The Gilded Cage
by ApollinaV
Summary: Clever Miss Hermione Granger believes that by marrying Azkaban prisoner 11652 she can effectively skirt the new Ministry Marriage Law requirements. A story about morality, mortality, and pickled walnuts.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

_My Dear Reader,_

_Originally, I had intended this to be canon-compliant. The 'canon' has been stuffed, shot loaded, primed, and lit. The BOOM was exquisite. This fic is firmly in the AU realm._

_WARNING to readers who like jumping to the smutty stuff first; you'll be disappointed. This fic develops slowly. I refuse to accept that Hermione Granger creamed her knickers in Potions class for Professor Snape, or that he had some perverse desire for an underage student. In this fic they loathe each other just as much as they did at Hogwarts._

_My last word of WARNING is on the subject of religion. I find it difficult to engage in a meaningful debate on morality without referencing any form of Divine presence, or how mankind interprets the Divine. My intent is not to offend, or proselytize, but if you do end up all huffy over it, well… what can I say. I welcome any debate OFFLINE as long as it is productive and open-minded. Flamers will be summarily shot._

_Constructive criticism and reviews are always appreciated. I can be reached at apollinawrites(at)gmail(dot)com_

_Most humbly yours,_

_ApollinaV_

* * *

**Chapter 1 Nolens Volens**

_"Fuck."_

That was the only thought she could manage at the moment. For an intelligent witch who prided herself on not only a comprehensive vocabulary, but insisted on edifying conversation, 'fuck' seemed to sum it up nicely. With a surprisingly throaty growl Hermione tossed the offending paperwork into the cold fireplace, Conjured her signature blue flame, and watched the headline, **'MINISTRY PASSES NEW MARRIAGE LAW' **darken, curl, and slowly turn to ash. It was a childish act at best, but quite satisfying.

She needed time to think.

The law was obscenely unfair, with gross provisions for Muggle-borns given their obviously unsuitable nature, and sought nothing more than to turn every witch of age regardless of blood status into brood mares.

In fact, only witches were required to find mates, if a wizard wished to remain unattached he was not penalized, which effectively shifted the natural dynamic of courtship. Witches were forced to woo and fight over eligible wizards.

The misogyny was not even thinly veiled, it was blatant.

All unions under the new regime smacked of puritanical and medieval influences. Hermione was quite familiar with the antiquated concept of _Pater familias_—the man of the house exerting control and dominance over every aspect of home and family life, but in the letter of this law it had become institutionalized.

Oh, certainly she understood the so-called rationale behind the law. Centuries of inbreeding did have its unpleasant consequences; not that her uterus should be responsible for cleaning up their messes. There were flip charts and graphs detailing the apocalyptic future of the wizarding world, Ministry propaganda fueling stories of drooling three-eyed web footed little darlings, but somehow Hermione knew this wasn't driving the law.

If that were the case they would have mandated something equally as barbaric as 'purebloods can now only marry Muggle-borns' or some other such nonsense, but they hadn't. Forcing witches to vie for wizards' attentions was one thing. Forcing fine, upstanding, moral pureblooded wizards to put up with uncivilized, ill-mannered, dirty Muggle-born tarts was quite another.

It was simply a question of demographics. In the modern age young witches were less apt to marry. And old wizards—as in the kind who wrote the law—were overwhelmingly single. Given that women of a certain age, those in the waning years of their fertility were exempt, only young supple witches with good birthing hips and pert nipples were forced. They might as well have added _'no mingers allowed.'_

She would never be subjugated thusly. She refused to be another aimless housewitch, slave to her husband's whims, whose only ambition was to be pregnant and stuck in the kitchen. As Hermione chewed the cuticle on her thumb, she considered her best options. The Ministry would force her to conceive a minimum of two children, then heap on tax advantages, monetary incentives, and 'wonderful gifts and prizes' for popping out more.

She'd need an impotent husband, one that could easily cave to her, one that wouldn't be swayed by incentives. If she had to be stuck in a loveless marriage, at least she'd wear the pants.

Ron sprang quickly to mind, but was just as quickly dismissed. Certainly she could walk all over that boy, but he'd actually want a litter of children running around the house and probably never lift a finger to help her get around the 'productivity' clauses. No. The Burrow was fun to visit, the chaos amusing to watch, but she had no interest in actually being stuck in that kind of hell hole for the rest of her life.

Neville. He was the perfect embodiment of weak and compliant. Hermione was also painfully aware that he carried a torch for her since early on in her school days. She had never encouraged it, but her apparent lack of attention only served to fan the flames. Not that he had the balls to make the first move. At the moment he had taken up with Hannah Abbot, but Hermione was certain that if she confessed some hidden love for him he'd throw the witch over for her.

Hermione raised her eyes plaintively to the ceiling. Could she really bind herself to Neville? She had no doubt that they could settle into a routine that could make home life bearable. But then visions of him fumbling and grunting atop her with Trevor watching from the bedstand sprang forth. Hermione didn't even want to think about Neville in possession of a penis much less an erection. No. Definitely not.

She needed to be smart about this. Surely she could outthink the Ministry, Lord knows she'd done it enough times before. This was just like a good logic problem.

And there it was.

Her lips turned into a twisted little smile. Hermione had her answer.

Snape.

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A/N:

Chapter title: Nolens Volens – Whether willing or not

A review would be _wunderbar_. Your feedback is most appreciated. AV


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
**

He had two choices. He could make an effort to get spiffed up, a polite gesture considering the occasion, or he could go as-is and risk offending his visitor. The simple decision was a veritable quandary to stew over, and considering he had all the time in the world to think on such obviously trivial things, he did.

Severus did not entertain 'guests.' The thought alone was humorous, but didn't change the fact that he would in three hours time meet with a mystery guest. So then he postulated; was this such a landmark occasion to merit the scrubbing of grime from his neck?

He spent the morning carefully and methodically waiving the pros and cons of making up his appearance before settling on doing absolutely nothing. Not that he didn't know that from the very beginning. No, whoever his visitor was, Severus was under no obligation to make him believe he was anything other than a caged animal.

His appearance was of no importance, it never had been. Cleanliness; however, was always paramount. The thought that his students used to believe he was unhygienic brought a cruel smile to his chapped lips. How could he be anything other than a neat-freak when the simplest of cross contamination in his labs could spell disaster? He was always meticulously clean; Severus was just damned unattractive.

Well, there was no point in attempting to change that now.

At two o'clock several guards made their presence known by banging on the other doors down his dank corridor. Their comings and goings never surprised him, every last guard in the prison lumbered through the hallways with the grace and finesse of a mountain troll, and by the racket he imagined a horde of the ugly bastards were outside his door now.

"Prisoner 11652 present yourself!" a voice barked. The youngest Mulciber boy by the sound of it. My how the mighty had fallen.

Without bothering to hide his irritation at the obvious inconvenience Severus lifted himself from the cot and stood in the center of his cell, and held his arms out wide to show he wasn't carrying anything. Not like a shiv was any match for a bloody wand.

Once satisfied the door rippled and creaked as the maximum security wards were lifted. He huffed and tapped his foot showing his displeasure, but truth be told he was quite curious as to his first visitor in nearly five years could possibly be. In a great anticlimactic moment Miss Hermione Granger strode into his small kingdom with a similar scowl on her petulant mouth.

His cell stank. He was well aware that it did. He did have a keen sense of smell afforded by his great honking nose after all, but there was no reason for her to be so damn rude about it. Her small nose wrinkled up in disgust and Severus was pleased he hadn't made a single effort to get spiffed up for her. It was apparent she hadn't bothered to get dressed for him either. The witch had always been a plain-Jane, but in dirty trainers, casual jeans, and a dumpy pullover she looked positively underwhelming.

Her assessment of the wizard wasn't much kinder. She expected he had lost weight, not that he was ever a heavy set man, but the gaunt sharp angles of his shoulders and face seemed hideously accented by malnourishment. Still, it was Snape alright. The eyes were the same, of that she was sure. Those black beady snake-eyes were unmistakable. Rationally her mind supplied his eyes were very dark brown. Black eyes were genetically impossible. He simply had a dominant 'BB' gene whereas her unremarkable brown eyes were the more common 'bb' variety. Pushing those random thoughts away, Hermione studied Snape.

She shuddered to think how he might appear beneath his fraying grey woolen robes, especially with his inferi pallor. But most distressing was his obvious lack of care. Seeing Sirius Black not long after his stint in the infamous prison had given her something to expect, and now faced with her ex-professor with a long matted black beard and tangled hair that seemed to be in some stage of dredlocking itself Hermione felt a definite stab of pity for the once proud wizard, but only a teensy-weensy stab.

Mulciber stuck his head through the door, "We'll be right here Miss, don't hesitate to call for us if this brute tries anything."

He was so eager to be helpful the boy must have found Granger appealing, but then Azkaban was pretty damn remote and female visitors were practically unheard of. Trelawney would have been appealing to the boy. Not to Severus. Even deprived of comfort and company Granger was nothing to look at.

She snorted and fingered her wand in a haphazard way, "Thanks, but I've got this."

For a lightening second Severus considered how fast he could disarm the witch, use her wand on the guards and make a hasty escape. It was possible. If anyone could do it he certainly could, even if his skills had atrophied a bit. But then it would be risking his neck. After his masters had met their demise Severus was resolved to never risk his neck again. Or at least that was his story and he was sticking to it.

"Professor Snape, I could say it's a pleasure to see you, but…" she gestured airily around his domain with a contemptible look, "well, this isn't a social call."

"It's not? Pity. And I had so been looking forward to tea and biscuits." The chit had the temerity to actually chortle at that. "Just what brings you here then Granger?"

"A business proposition."

Severus' eyebrows rose at that. Business? As far as he knew he had nothing to offer the witch, and certainly nothing to gain from her. He folded his arms across his chest in a display of authority he clearly didn't possess, but it always helped to press one's advantage, and currently the only advantage he had was that people still feared him.

"Well let's hear it then."

Hermione studied the dirty cell and leveled her wand at a wash rag, before Severus could register his protest she impressively transfigured it into a rather plush black leather armchair. Severus muttered 'Show off,' just loud enough for her to hear. For added measure she cast several thorough scourgifies on it. Smart girl. There was no telling what kinds of life had been growing on the rag.

She sat and primly crossed her legs earning a contemptuous snort from her former potions Professor. He took a seat on his thin cot and leveled his eyes at the interloper.

"If you don't mind I'd like to skip the traditional small talk," Severus nodded his assent and she continued, "I'd like to propose marriage."

For several seconds the silence was nearly audible until a loud click came from his clenched jaw.

"Leave Miss Granger."

"Sir?"

"You've had your fun at my expense. Go now!"

Her brow furrowed. "I assure you Professor Snape this is no joke."

"The hell it's not! Did Potter put you up to this, or perhaps those contemptible Weasley twins? Regardless, I find this neither funny nor amusing. Leave Miss Granger, go back to your friends at the pub, have a good laugh and never return."

She narrowed her eyes at him and silenced his voice with a quick flick of her wand. Damned woman, she probably only did so to drive home the point that she was armed and he wasn't. Not like he bloody well didn't know that already.

"Do I look like I'm joking Sir? That I'd willingly come out to this wretched filthy place for a giggle? Please, give me a bit more credit than that. I'm quite serious."

She waived her wand once more lifting the silencing spell and Severus sat back contemplating the witch. Granger was prone to many strange flights of fancy. He mostly chalked it up to her muggle background. No civilized witch or wizard would ever champion the rights of house elves or have werewolves as bosom buddies. And while it was still possible she was having him on, it wasn't likely she was going to leave anytime soon.

"Then explain yourself."

With a loud longsuffering sigh Granger relaxed back into the armchair, a part of Severus ached to run his fingers up the curve of the arm rests and wiggle into the cushion. He only had his mattress as a seat and the stone wall wasn't quite accommodating on his back.

"The Ministry in its infinite wisdom has seen fit to pass a marriage law requiring all unwed witches to marry and start popping out babies as soon as possible."

For a moment he could only stare at the girl. Of course he had no way of knowing what she said were true. Occasionally he got scraps of old newsprint to use as bog paper, but never full articles and certainly not current events.

Severus's brain quickly ran through the ramifications of such a ridiculous law and came to many of the same conclusions that Hermione had. Even without the benefit of knowing more that what she had only just said, he was able to fill in the missing details; he was well accustomed to the Ministry's _modus operandi._ No doubt they would put the unwilling witches on a short leash. All in all it was a bit of brilliance for her to come to him.

Hermione watched as his thin pressed lips curled upwards and before her startled eyes Severus Snape smiled broadly showing off his snarled teeth and evidence of a lack of basic dental care. It was beyond scary. The man looked like a pirate.

"Tsk! Tsk! Miss Granger, what have your parents to say about your proposition then? Tell me, are they more repulsed by their little girl lusting after her big bad ex-professor, or the prospect of having a convicted murderer in the family?"

"Lusting? I assure you Mr. Snape I have never harbored any lust for you. Loathing perhaps, but certainly never lust. As for Monica and Wendell Wilkins… let's just say they don't exactly remember having a daughter, and everyone involved prefers it that way."

"Then I take it you are quite serious about this," at her nodded affirmation Severus thoughtfully stroked his beard, "I assume there will be something for me out of this arrangement?"

"Naturally."

"Then you'll have to spell it out for me in detail before I could possibly give your request proper consideration."

Hermione nodded before pulling out a large roll of parchment from her satchel. "I've familiarized myself with the terms of your incarceration and cannot find any prohibition against marriage; actually I was able to find support of it in case law in _Phillips v. the Ministry of Magic_."

Severus rolled his eyes, not that she noticed; her bushy head was burrowed deep into the parchment before her. It would hardly have been a challenge to pluck her wand right then and there.

"Once married you cannot be denied access to your wife for visitation."

"Conjugal visits?" he asked with a broad smirk clearly enjoying the way he threw her off balance.

Sex? What the hell would give him the idea she'd be interested in having sex with him? Hermione didn't bother hiding her hasty perusal of his body, or the shudder of revolution. The imagery of his bony little hips hitting hers was downright frightening. She hadn't been so squicked by the mere thought of sex since the time she caught Phineas and the Fat Lady in a compromising position. And chocolate pudding hadn't seemed right for months after that.

"Certainly not! As if I ever would Professor. If I were interested in that sort of relationship I would find someone much more suitable than yourself. Actually, I've come to you specifically because you are specifically prohibited from conjugal visits," she replied rather smugly than strictly necessary. "That and your life sentence of course."

"Well seeing you're not going to provide me with pussy I ask again, how does this benefit me Miss Granger? I'm not a man taken to acts of charity."

She snorted loudly, "Clearly!" then composing herself again she pulled out a large tablet of parchment, even at a distance Severus could make out it was rules governing his incarceration. "As your wife I could significantly improve your situation and give you comfort in other ways."

"Such as? I need an example Miss Granger if you intend on dangling this unattractive carrot in front of me."

Frowning she flicked her wand at him and huffed, "Scourgify."

Though it could be construed as an act of mercy given his condition, scourgify was quite an insult to any wizard. The spell was created for household spills and cleanups, and was generally considered to be too abrasive to use on the skin. For Severus it felt as if he had just been licked by a large dry kneazle tongue, it did however cut through the caked layer of grime.

The scourgify was followed by an air deodorizing charm. It wouldn't last long as the mattress emitted its own particular brand of foul air, the shallow sink often burbled up something quite noxious, and then there was of course the stench of the privy. His cell was indescribably wretched in the best of seasons and twice as putrid in summer. For the moment it was a welcomed reprieve. One would have thought Severus would have grown accustomed to the stink as one often does when surrounded by a constant barrage. He had not.

His hand flew up to rake through the dense tangled mass of his beard, even his chin felt nominally clean.

"As a member of the general public I must petition the Ministry to see you, as your wife I'll have access to your person whenever I wish. Furthermore I'll be able to bring you items, handle your affairs and correspondence, as well as bring you food. Now I don't know exactly what you're fed, but given the horrible state of your person I'd hazard to guess the diet does not agree with you." Severus gave a short bark of laughter, but didn't otherwise interrupt.

"While I'm not going to make myself available to your every whim, I believe we can reach a suitable accord."

She pulled out a quill and rummaged again in her satchel before producing a marriage contract. It was simply good business practice to always assume the sale. Proffering the items to him Severus accepted the self-inking quill and contract, placed them on his bed and made a rather aristocratic dismissive waive of his hand.

"Wait? You're sending me away?"

"Of course girl, did you really think I'd just agree to this insanity? I need to contact my solicitor. Come back in two weeks, and leave the other paperwork will you."

"Your solicitor?" she asked flabbergasted, "I assure you Professor Snape the contract is in order, I've thoroughly covered all the bases, please have a look at it."

"Oh yes, and I suppose I can trust you just because you're some morally superior erstwhile Gryffindor? Miss Granger, you waltz in here, unbidden and unwelcome, spend all of five minutes spinning this tale, ignoring the fact that I have no proof of this Marriage Law and expect me to just sign this tripe?" Hermione sat as far back as she could to avoid flying spittle from his twisted mouth.

"It occurs to me that you might not be the only witch in this predicament making me quite the marketable wizard. By the end of this week I might have stacks of marriage proposals to sort through. I'll need at least two weeks to settle my affairs and list my demands."

"Demands?"

"Did I stutter? Yes of course you silly girl. Now go and don't darken my doorstep any longer. Two weeks," he dismissed her like a house elf.

Hermione didn't need to be told twice and she practically threw her carefully done research at him. At the cell door she turned remembering his transfigured washcloth. He'd probably need it, but given the covetous way he stared at the chair she decided to leave it as something to remember her by.

"Out!" she screamed. "Let me out of this damned place."

The cell door quickly swung open and just as quickly shut leaving Professor Snape with the most reading material he'd had in over a year. He smiled to himself, grabbed the quill she'd left behind and made his aching back quite comfortable in the armchair.

All in all it was the best day he could remember in a long time. Now all he had to figure out was how to best milk the situation to his advantage.

*

Thank you to everyone who left a rating or review. I was not expecting such a warm reception for the first chapter. Your praise and criticism is much appreciated. Thank you all. A.V


	3. Chapter 3

****

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic. **

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 3**

During the two weeks between their respective meetings several things happened. Hermione received a heavy stack of marriage proposals from wizards spread far and wide. They were all so very concerned that a vivacious, young, and nationally-recognized celebrity would be forced to take a husband, but were willing to sacrifice themselves to the cause. Each proposal was politely returned with a short note written on parchment saturated in itchy-scrot powder.

And quite predictably, Ron stopped by Hermione's modest flat, ring box in hand with large puppy dog eyes and dreams of ginger-headed ankle biters squealing and playing at their feet.

"Mione," Ron wobbly descended onto one knee, "Please Mione, I know we've had our rough patches, but you know we've always had more good times than bad. And I know that our future together will be more filled with more good times. I can make you happy Mione." He opened the jeweler's box to display a small diamond and a toothy grin. "Please."

Hermione had to hold back a scowl and tread lightly. He sounded pathetic, but Ron meant well. Not that she'd ever take him up on his offer; Ron wanted a mother not a wife, as if one Molly Weasley wasn't quite enough. She motioned for him to get up and watched him struggle to his feet.

"I'm sorry Ron, but I just can't."

To his credit Ron didn't immediately flop around like a fish demanding 'whys' and 'what fors' he just looked genuinely confused. "I don't get it Mione; I thought you'd want this."

"You know I don't love you like that."

"Well not now, but it could be like that, and really Mione who else could there be?"

There was Charlie… They'd once had a rather passionate relationship, so passionate that after their break up they couldn't stand to be in the same room together without palms itching to grab their respective wands, or whatever heavy object was within reach.

She blamed the whole dragon thing. If he hadn't been living the life of a roguish international dragon wrangler, she'd never give another Weasley a second glance, but his hazardous life-on-the-edge taunted her. It dared her to flirt, made vague promises that Charlie Weasley was a bit of a bad boy, a rebel, and Hermione had always inexplicably been drawn to the wrong sort. Which was why poor Ron, all clammy hands and easy going manner had no chance at all.

"I see," she said coldly even though she expected this argument. "So you're proposing marriage because you don't think anyone else could possibly be interested in me?" She was picking a fight, Hermione knew it, but damn it ever since the Marriage Law had been enacted she wanted a fight. She was channeling her inner bitch.

"No! No," Ron quickly retracted, "I don't mean it like that and you know it. I just thought… I just thought… you know, we'd be together, like we always were meant to. We make a good team Mione, we could be happy together." Ron was trying hard. She could yell at him make him feel wretched and enjoy laughing at his pain, but it was hard to scream at someone who was trying so hard to support her.

She shook her head, "I know Ron, but I've made other plans for myself, I'll be fine. Besides you wouldn't want to disappoint the girls now would you?"

He smiled sheepishly, "Eh, I was bound to settle down sometime," he shrugged, "So you've really made other plans? I'm sorry; I should have talked to you first. I guess I just figured you'd need help." He closed the ring box and shoved it carelessly in the back pocket of his jeans. The serious business of marriage quickly forgotten, but then Ron was as deep as an inkpot.

Hermione snorted, "When have I ever pulled the damsel in distress act?"

Ron shuffled his feel and smiled again, right then he was utterly adorable, "Never," he admitted. "I should have known you'd find a way around this. So what is it Mione? Where's the loophole?"

"As far as I can tell there isn't any. I've been sifting through it for the better part of a month and I can't find a damn thing to exclude myself short of permanently binding my powers, breaking my wand, and going-muggle." She enjoyed watching him shudder at that. It wasn't an option.

"So…" he said in a forcefully casual manner, "you're getting married then… do I know the lucky bloke?"

Hermione felt for her wand, just in case. "It's Snape."

Her words took a moment to register. "What do you mean Snape?" She could tell he was trying to think of some other Snape.

"Sit," she commanded and like a good little boy Ron slumped into her overstuffed couch. "I'm marrying Professor Snape." She held up her hand, holding off whatever overblown reaction was boiling to the surface. "I have my reasons."

"To marry the_ traitor_? He's a murdering Deatheater!"

"Yes, and he's a right nasty bastard with bad teeth and weird fashion sense. I've got all that Ron, thank you very much. But he also happens to be serving a life's sentence. Several in fact."

"But… but…" Ron sputtered before recognition dawned on him. He may have been a bit thick, but Ron understood strategy. Hermione watched in amusement as he gaped before breaking into a big smile. "That's bloody brilliant."

"I thought so myself."

"So you won't have to see him ever again."

She shrugged her shoulders haphazardly, "Eh, we're working out an agreement right now. I'll probably have to bring him a subscription to the Daily Prophet or some Honeydukes chocolate every now and then, but that's it."

Ron cleared his throat loudly, "But Mione, you wouldn't have to… um… you know."

Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and gave him a deadly glare. "No, I won't." she said quietly.

The wizarding world firmly believed in the superiority of blood, from classifying purebloods to subjugating 'uppity-muggleborns' who had the gall to request things such as equality. Much as the eugenics movement of the early twentieth century sterilized many undesirable breeders in mental institutions, the wizarding world firmly believed its prisoners had no right to breed either. Criminals begot more criminals. Azkaban was charmed specifically so that conception could not take place within its walls.

Aside from all that, Severus Snape was classified as one of the most dangerous inmates. As per punishment of being serving a life sentence he was forbidden from engaging in sexual intercourse (section 4, paragraph 6, sub-section 3a), therefore it was all a moot point as far as Hermione was concerned.

"He's not permitted those sorts of visits."

Ron smiled a looked very relieved. "Thank Merlin! Could you imagine…" he shuddered and looked a bit peeked, "Ugh!"

"My thoughts exactly."

Hermione watched his eyes glaze over just a bit as if he were trying to wrestle with a concept just a bit beyond his reach. He wore the same indecipherable look as he had when she stupidly forced him to watch the Jeremy Iron's movie_'Kafka'_. Watching those same eyes rove over an unseen problem like an oyster worrying a pearl, Hermione waited patiently for the questions that were coming.

"But Mione, I know we're talking about Snape, ick and all, but that means you won't be able to be a Mummy. I mean you would give up all that?"

She rubbed her forehead preparing herself to delicately explain something no Weasley would ever understand. "Ron, listen to me again, that's exactly why I'm marrying the man in the first place. If I only wanted someone I could control, hell, I'd go after that fool Lockhart and be done with it. But I don't want children. Marrying Snape affords me that kind of protection."

For a moment Ron looked as if he'd been struck. "You can't really mean that Mione."

"Of course I do."

"But… but…" She looked at him expectantly waiting for his thoughts to clear well enough to form a proper sentence. Hermione briefly considered coaching him on subject/verb agreements. Finally he sighed, "You're a witch, you're supposed to want babies."

"Maybe. But I don't." Really was it that hard to understand? Apparently it was.

"Well maybe not now, but what about later Mione? You can't throw away the possibility forever just because you don't want them now. I mean, Mum says all witches go through their nesting phase. Maybe you just haven't started nesting yet."

"Nesting?" She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Ron nodded absolutely confident in his knowledge and happy to have an opportunity to impart words of wisdom on Hermione for a change. "When witches hit a certain age they start preparing a nest, you know, meeting wizards who'd make good fathers, getting a bigger flat," he glanced around her uninviting sparse living space. It certainly didn't welcome guests much less children. "Nesting. Like a bird would."

"Aha. I see." Hermione paused for a moment ostensibly to indicate that Ron's words had sunk in. "Nope. Still not for me. Sorry Ron; maybe it's a muggleborn thing."

She watched him rub his back pocket where the ring box was, knowing he felt genuinely relieved she had turned him down. In a way Hermione was a bit saddened that this ugly business had come between them.

"Don't worry, this will all turn out for the best."

He grumbled a bit.

"I didn't catch that."

"I said I just wished it didn't have to be Snape."

Hermione nodded sagaciously. "Yeah, but rather the devil you know than the devil you don't."

*  
Thank you for staying with this, please consider leaving a review. It would be most appreciated. A.V


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 4**

_First Rule of Slytherin House – Press every advantage. Work every angle. Life may be a journey not a destination, but every good sailor knew that the world was a mindless expanse of ocean, and until planting both feet on terra firma, it was unpredictable. Don't take chances. Be prepared._

Severus Snape was having the time of his life. Not since writing to Saint Nicholas as a lad had he ever had as much fun drawing up a list of demands and every little whim that came to him. As far as he was concerned there was no reason at all to let the annoying little chit get the better end of the deal.

She was using him after all.

His appointed public defender was a complete incompetent asshat. At Severus' trial the man said barely two words in his defense, but then it was a show trial and nothing he said could change the predetermined verdict. At least he got a trail, but then that probably had more to do with being 'Public Enemy #2' than anything else.

The Wizengamot was so completely backed up with long lines of bewildered wizards and witches awaiting justice that the average citizen caught up in Auror raids was processed without trial. In typical Ministry fashion, their knee-jerk reaction was to arrest anyone and everyone on the shady side of the law. Afterall, this was the 'new reality.'

Deatheaters, Slytherins, and pet snake owners were all processed. All sorts of people disappeared, but there wasn't so much of a peep out of the wizarding public who didn't like asking uncomfortable questions. John Q. Wizard was happy to be rid of disreputable characters, it made him morally upstanding and patriotic to the cause of the Light. Rumor had it Scrimgeour emptied out Knockturn Alley and made a tidy chunk of change in developing the real estate. And nobody was complaining over that, not when they'd put in a dog park.

At trial Severus' only insistence was that he retain the right to appeal if future evidence of his innocence ever presented itself. Since it was so bloody unlikely he won that particular motion and shuffled off to Azkaban without another word of protest. Somehow rotting in the cesspool of humanity was a right he'd earned.

However, his solicitor, Mr. A. Ffoulkes was an absolute genius. It wasn't coincidental that he was both Hogwart's and the late Albus Dumbledore's solicitor as well. Ffoulkes was both well known and very well respected in wizarding circles, it also helped that the man looked exactly as a counselor should, though only muggleborns would notice his uncanny resemblance to an older and more portly Perry Mason.

The rights under wizarding law for a convicted felon were few and far between, and as Miss Granger had pointed out there were clear advantages in being married. Severus wanted to make certain that he properly made use of every single one. A week after the headstrong Gryffindor graced him with her presence and he voraciously read, notated, and diligently commented on both the new law and terms of his incarceration Mr. A. Ffoulkes met him in his small cell.

"Severus!" The jovial well dressed man furiously shook his hand. "Finally ready to release those documents and get out of this place?" As he said this, Ffoulkes' eyes roamed around the cramped cell. His nose wrinkled slightly as the stench had returned, but Ffoulkes meant no insult by it.

"No, I've called you on another matter," he shook his head and offered the out of place leather chair, "Congratulate me Ffoulkes, I'm getting married."

"Congratulations? Certainly…" he looked perplexed for just a moment before recovering. "I suppose this has to do with the new law. Bloody business that…" Severus watched the cogs turn in the elderly man's head before a sly smile spread across his lips. "Brilliant… If I had thought of it myself I'd have Dorothy do the same. So, who's the witch? Anyone I'd know?"

"Hermione Granger."

Severus watched with interest as the man's eyes went wide in obvious recognition.

"I gather you've heard of her."

Ffoulkes nodded slowly with a slight shake to his head. "Of course, of course…Great girl that Granger, I had to deal with her during the dispensation of Albus' will. It'd figure it'd take a witch like that to scheme this up, but then I'm assuming this isn't a love match. You two haven't secretly been in love for years… right?"

Severus gave a humorless laugh. "I've never had an ounce of interest in the child, or any girl I've taught for that matter. No. This is business, pure and simple."

There were precious few things about his life that he could look back and feel any amount of pride for. His reputation as an educator was one of them. Given, he was a taskmaster as inventive or cruel as any other Deatheater in the classroom, but he had never once made an inappropriate action; no matter how much the little shits whined about fucking points. No, to approach a student was to betray the trust inherent in his position as one of the school's guardians. And his only true lustful fantasies he'd ever had for the Gryffindor swot could best be described as homicidal.

He proffered a large tablet of notes, "Here, a list of my demands. See if you can write this up as a marriage contract that will satisfy the Ministry, will you?"

Ffoulkes thumbed through the documents making small grunting noises under his breath as he took in the different clauses and requests. Lifting his eyes back up to his client, "A bit mad hatter if you ask me…"

"Perhaps," Severus conceded.

Truth was the whole idea appealed to him. And why shouldn't he request every comfort and desire that came to mind? There was a phrase that resounded around his head, 'steal big or not at all.' And if Hermione chose to dismiss his terms, well certainly she wasn't the only available witch. Perhaps an advertisement in the paper was warranted?

Severus humbly and quietly acknowledged to himself and no other that if he ever wanted to leave his self-imposed imprisonment Dumbledore's evidence only needed to be provided to the Wizengamot and well, that would be that. But then if he was to survive this meager existence why should he suffer needlessly when a witch could cater to his whims? And not just any witch… Potter's woman.

Somehow the irony fit. Another marriage contract had arrived shortly after she left from a middle aged spinster in Wales who was obviously shrewd enough to come to the same conclusions. But why settle for an unknown element when Miss Granger provided such interesting possibilities

After a few parting words and clarifying questions, Mr. A. Ffoulkes took his leave, happy to exit the wizarding prison, and Severus was happy to get his armchair back.

* * *

**Twenty house-points to the first reviewer who can tell me where the name A. Ffoulkes comes from. No search engines.**

**Thank you for staying with this fic. Please consider leaving a review. Your interest is inspiring. A.V**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 5 - Caveat Emptor**

The last meeting with her former Potions Professor had not exactly gone to plan. Not only had Hermione left humiliated and utterly aware of her failure to plan for all contingencies, but she had been thrown entirely off guard by the wizard himself. It was a most unusual sensation; typically Hermione made men uncomfortable and ill at ease under her scrutiny… which only provided hours of amusement for her.

Regardless, Hermione was unwilling to concede defeat. At the prearranged time and date she appeared again at Azkaban prison, only this time with legal counsel and in a drab antechamber made for such meetings. The room was scarcely big enough to house the four of them and only consisted of an off kilter table, uncomfortable metal chairs, and impossibly bad lighting that had an annoying flicker that subtly announcing failing charms.

To say she was momentarily taken aback by Professor Snape's legal representative was an understatement. A. Ffoulkes only represented the most upstanding and decent wizards. To give legal council to a Deatheater, moreover the convicted murderer of his late client Professor Dumbledore, caused the blood in her veins to suddenly go cold.

Hermione eyed her own council, Mr. Eugene Tattings, who was a well-meaning Gryffindor muggleborn like herself that only had her best interests at heart, but was in no way a legal shark. She felt suddenly ill at ease as if her representative was swimming in deeper waters than he could possibly tread. Every one of Hermione's nerve endings pulsed in warning. Whether Tattings felt similar apprehension, she couldn't say, he appeared to be unfazed by the entire proceeding.

Hermione wasn't entirely certain if that was a good thing or not.

For his part Severus Snape looked perfectly at ease, the muggle phrase 'cool as a cucumber' aptly fit. This more than anything else caused bright flashing red lights to join the warning sirens going off in her head, but Hermione could play this game too. She made certain that morning as she carefully dressed and prepared for the appointment that she at least appeared poised and in control. Hermione selected her most fashionable royal blue robes, cut in the wizarding equivalent of a 'power suit' and chosen for the house-neutral color given the situation. It would not do to provoke his ire by wearing maroon, or hint at capitulation by showing up in green. She had to project the confidence Hermione no longer felt.

For the first half hour the two solicitors drowned on and on about the first party and hereto mention the second party… Et cetera… Et cetera… upon which matrimony was proposed…. Et cetera… Et cetera…

It was as if the two solicitors privately colluded to make the proceedings as absolutely dull and pretentious as possible, never mind the fact that she could barely follow the legal-ease which nobody bothered to break down into plain spoken English. Hermione noted with a certain amount of disgust that her husband-to-be appeared to be following attentively to every word, and therefore she appeared to follow similarly.

After a long winded recitation of the Ministry's standard provisions, her councilor Mr. Tattings looked at Hermione quite pointedly and asked,

"Do you agree?"

Inwardly Hermione froze. She had never tuned a single lecture out before, not even History of Magic, and yet at this most important event of her life, she couldn't follow the jargon at all. They might as well have been speaking Mermish the entire time.

"Pardon," she said lightly, "Can you paraphrase that for me?"

"Miss Granger do you agree to cohabitate or in this matter given your husband's incarceration – occupy his ancestral home?"

"What? Live with him?" Hermione pointed askance at Professor Snape who on the whole appeared really too smug for the proceedings.

"Yes, well as you know Miss Granger," Mr. Ffoulkes began, "The Ministry encourages all witches to be brought to their husband's residence for domicile. It is tradition you know."

Yes, it was a tradition. An ugly tradition. The young helpless virgin bride escorted to her husband's house to be shuttered away for the rest of her life. Well, not for Miss Hermione J. Granger, thank you very much.

"Really I think not. I for one, have a home. And as I've done my homework, I've visited Professor Snape's so-called ancestral home at 'Spinner's End' and found it sorely lacking. There is no way I can abide by such a request."

"I agree," Severus Snape spoke up for the first time during the proceedings, "It's an abysmal dump, I expect the authorities have condemned the site. We are however speaking of the Prince Homestead."

"Prince Homestead?"

Mr. Ffoulkes looked over his copious notes, "Yes, it appears Mister Snape purchased the Prince ancestral home when it became fell on the auctioneer's block several years ago, along with the residual house elves. They've been left to their own devices for quite awhile and likely there's been unrestrained breeding so we don't have a current figure on how many elves inhabit the residence now, but per the provisions you are not allowed to dismiss them either." Ffoulkes shot her a significant look at that.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, "What? Didn't inherit it?"

By the dark glare she earned Hermione knew she just stomped on a tender nerve. "No."

"Alright, I'll bite. Why?" Hermione looked around the table at several pairs of eyes who couldn't give her a clear answer. She narrowed them at her dear soon-to-be-betrothed, "Well then, give me one good reason why I should give up my flat."

Hermione's flat wasn't much… well, it was less than a flat. To be honest, it was little more than a closet. She kept her things there; books, some papers, clothes, a bed, not much, but then Hermione didn't need much. To say she lived at work was an understatement.

"For one, the law is entirely on my side in this matter," Snape said lazily, "as my wife you are obliged to live under my roof as I see fit. Under Ministry provisions I could require you to live in that lovely hovel in Manchester you just mentioned…"

"Fine. I'll live in your ancestral home," she said resigned, "but I retain the right to make changes and modernize as needed."

Wizarding estates, particularly uninhabited ones needed to be pulled kicking and screaming from whatever age they came from. Hermione could consider herself blessed if the manor only needed updating from the Victorian age, but then it was an ancestral home; there was not telling what state it was in.

What she possibly couldn't fathom was that was exactly what Severus wanted. The old Prince Homestead was in a terrible state of disarray. His ugly bigoted grandparents couldn't be bothered to lift a finger to bring it back to its one-time splendor, not when their worthless half-blooded grandchild might inherit the place… not that they included him in their will.

Severus only had the opportunity to make a cursory inspection of the house he had never before set foot in when he bought it at auction. The simple walk through only reinforced exactly how cut off the unwanted grandchild had been from proper aristocratic wizarding society. Regardless, the stately old manor was nearly in ruins.

Mr. A. Ffoulkes looked quite pleased and gently added for her benefit, "A modest budget for its upkeep has been allotted for you."

"A budget?"

After more ruffling of parchments Ffoulkes withdrew a Gringotts ledger, "Five thousand galleons for the first five years to cover any structural improvements or necessary repairs, and two thousand galleons from thereon."

"Let me see that," Hermione held out her hand for the ledger, but Ffoulkes would not relinquish it earning him a firm scowl from both her and Tattings. She rounded on Snape, "Just what is this crap?"

He raised an elegant eyebrow as if to innocently inquire 'who me?'

"Are you yanking me around Snape? Cuz I'll be arsed if I'll play your games."

There had to be an angle. Severus Snape never did anything without good reason, and for the life of her Hermione couldn't figure it out, which obviously meant he was somehow getting one over her.

Ffoulkes loudly cleared his throat and shuffled more paper while Tattings simply looked wildly around the table trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

Tattings leaned into her to quietly whisper in her ear, "Miss Granger, I don't understand your objections, certainly if you would like me to petition for a greater allowance we might manage that, but five thousand galleons is quite generous."

"I know it is!" she hissed back unconcerned that her voice carried, "The question is _why_. And how does he have that many galleons to burn, honestly the man is rotting in prison, there's no way he could be earning enough galleons to support a building allowance for the rest of his life, so what's the trick?"

Severus' eyes danced in amusement. Even when his intensions were straightforward and bluntly obvious, Severus' Slytherin reputation always threw off unsuspecting Gryffindors. He savored the moment with glee; it was the kind of moment he could easily relish for at least two, maybe three weeks.

"Is it so difficult a concept for you to wrap your bushy little head around Miss Granger that maybe I want my estate well cared for?"

He'd never provide her with any kind of personal stipend, after all his very hard earned gallons had no business paying for whatever trivial luxuries or trinkets she stupidly fawned after, but his birthright was something entirely different.

"In exchange for what?"

"Pardon?"

"What are you hiding from me, and where are these galleons coming from anyway? I know what you make, or rather what you made. You can't possibly afford this unless you're running some kind of scam."

"And what exactly do you know of my finances?" Baiting Hermione was so easy, it was hardly worth the challenge, but then it was so amusing to observe her get worked up into a fury. Severus watched her cheeks color as she radiated wrath.

"You made only twelve thousand galleons a school term!"

Shocked silent for a moment Severus didn't let her triumph last long. "How did you come by that information?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "I was offered your old job," she returned with complete satisfaction, "but I turned it down." She couldn't bring herself to disparage her much beloved Alma Mater, but it really was downright insulting the amount of galleons they offered to what essentially was a 24 hour / 7 days a week job of playing teacher, parent, and nursemaid to an entire castle full of sniffing, snotty, and generally apathetic schoolchildren. Never mind the hormonally charged teenagers.

"Miss Granger, I am able to live comfortably, or rather I am able to let you live comfortably off residuals from my patents, and that is all you need to know. I suggest you drop this line of enquiry for the moment if we are going to get through the next thirty points."

She sat back dumbfounded. _Thirty?_ Was there time to propose to Lockhart? He was unfortunately considered by Ministry standards 'approved to breed,' but at least she could keep him relatively amused with reruns of muggle cartoons and never have to deal with him. Besides, she could do 'joined-up writing' with the best of them.

After a slight recess for water and use of the facilities, for which Hermione was eternally grateful as splashing even rust colored water seemed to calm her just a tad, they resumed the proceedings.

Hermione had to admit most of the points were reasonable. She couldn't find any reason to object that he be permitted to use her to send owls, and that she deliver both the Daily Prophet, Guardian, and Times when she visited his cell. (It was quite a surprise to note that he kept up on muggle current events as well, but Hermione also assumed he was a wee bit starved for reading materials.) Keeping him well stocked with parchment, quills, assorted goodies from Honeydukes and home cooked meals were the sorts of demands she expected to hear in the first place.

Severus requested that she 'keep up' his cell meaning that she perform more air deodorizing charms, cleaning and sanitizing his mattress and surroundings, et cetera. Honestly it was all the sort of things she'd want to do. If she was going to have to visit him with any form of regularity there was no way she'd walk into a pig sty.

But then came the question of how often she would visit the aforementioned sty. If Hermione had her way it'd be never, but clearly that wasn't an option. And given his demands he wasn't likely to take her offer of once a month. She was actually shocked when Snape requested twice a week… for an hour.

"Absolutely not! I have a life, a real one; I can't abide by that schedule." Hermione didn't care how cold and calloused it sounded. He was a fucking Deatheater and traitor to the Order. Aside from the fact they had nothing in common. What could they possibly talk about for an hour?

As far as Hermione was concerned she needed only to show up, perform whatever cleaning charms were strictly necessary, drop off the requested goods and be gone.

Snape looked incredulous, "You can't possibly spare two hours a week for your husband while he withers away in prison. Dear lady you wound me."

Severus was having a field day with this. Gods this was so much fun, she went from witch to all out gorgon in seconds, now he wished he'd requested her at least once a day. Initially that was his thought, but sharing too much of his life and living space with the bitch bordered on masochism.

"You deserve to wither away Snape. You got off too easily if you ask me."

"Then by all means go petition some other prisoner if I'm that repulsive."

"I can't!" Hermione threw up her hands. If only it were that easy.

"You can't?" Severus frowned, what could the chit possibly mean by this?

"You're the only one with a life sentence here."

_"I'm what!"_ Severus raged, whipping his head to Ffoulkes, "Explain this, now! Nott? Yaxley? Greengrass? Malfoy? What of them? Surely they deserve, perhaps more than I to rot away in this hell hole!"

Hermione proudly supplied the answer, "Kissed, the whole lot of 'em. You're the last Deatheater, Snape." Oh she had tried, but there was no way the Ministry would let her get away with marrying a soulless husk of a man. They couldn't legally sign the marriage certificate. It was damned infuriating.

She watched with much mirth as his eyes went wide and wild as he digested the information. "Why then…" his silken voice broke and he choked, "why wasn't I?"

Mr. Ffoulkes gently laid a hand on his arm, "You did not participate in the final battle."

Severus nodded his understanding but still looked as if he'd been hit violently upside his head by an errant quaffle. In truth he hadn't waived his wand once during the battle. His job had been to stay by the Dark Lord's side. If Potter cocked it all up, as he was prone to do, Severus was supposed to step in. What nobody planned for of course was the mercurial whims of an insane lizard-wizard and his penchant for turning on his own troops. Severus spent the grand majority of the battle desperately trying not to bleed out.

But Severus wasn't dwelling on ancient history now. His thoughts were with fates of his Deatheater brothers. Severus had heard the guards refer to him as 'the Deatheater,' but then he spent two decades as 'Snape the Deatheater.' He just never realized 'the Deatheater' was meant in the singular. Was he really the last of his brethren?

A multitude of conflicting emotions seemed to fill his chest cavity. They'd really done it, everything he and the Order had sacrificed for, and yet being the last Deatheater was somehow so singularly lonely.

He gave himself just a brief moment to clear his mind of his conflicting emotions, occulding them away to dwell another time. For the moment he needed to be sharp.

Turning his best predatory smile to the table Severus cleared his throat and spoke, "Well Miss Granger, it appears as if I'm your last option, which means you will find time to visit me twice a week. Would you like to sign the contract now or do you want to continue reading the terms?"

"Bastard!"

He rolled his eyes, not even bothering to point out that the epitaph didn't sting nearly as much as his unfortunate upbringing, and all things considered his life would have been much easier had he been a bastard. "I suggest you keep your emotions under tighter control, unless of course you'd prefer to give up all your little secrets now? Not that I need any more bargaining chips."

_Chapter to be continued..._

*

A/N: Just about EVERYONE wanted to know what his demands would be. I hope this satisfied. Though to be perfectly honest, it doesn't really matter so much as how his demands are met… right? Therein lies the rub. At any rate, writing this was a hoot for me. I mentioned in my 'letter to the reader' in the first chapter that I'm not Christian. I'm actually Jewish, and writing this particular chapter was fun in a way as it brought me back to my own marriage contract negotiations. Somehow I don't see this one ending with mothers breaking dishes in joy.

ONE person got the Ffoulkes reference. I guess it was much more obscure than I originally thought. Ffoulkes was the Scarlet Pimpernel's right hand man and side kick. The Scarlet Pimpernel of course being an English spy. But whatever. Give me my excentricities.

Thank you to all who have dropped by and reviewed, and to all who've enjoyed this fic so far. Please let me know what you think. AV


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – Caveat Emptor, **_**et cetera**_

Mr. Ffoulkes seized upon the moment to break the mounting tension by reshuffling his paperwork and loudly clearing his throat. "We've just a few more points to go through, and then any counters you may have Miss Granger. On the issue of children…," Ffoulkes was quickly cut off.

"No. There won't be any children in this marriage."

"Miss Granger, as you are no doubt aware under new law you are unable to stipulate that in your contract. We must then of course address the issue." Mr. Ffoulkes said calmly. Mr. Tattings nodded to her encouragingly.

Quietly Hermione gathered her anger and pushed it away, she could hardly afford any more emotional outbursts not with the way things were going for her, "I suppose that under the highly improbably circumstance that Voldemort himself rises from his scattered ashes, rebuilds an army of evil murdering Deatheaters, takes over the Ministry, opens the doors to Azkaban, approves of his most loyal servant impregnating his mudblood wife, _and_ I haven't killed myself by then, then yes, I suppose we could talk about the probability of children."

Hermione was always amused by the way wizards reacted to her cavalier mentioning of the most hated despot. Tattings went as white as a sheet, Ffoulkes closely studied his parchments not meeting her eye, and Snape simply looked at her in amusement with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

"Or, Mr. Snape could be found innocent on appeal," Ffoulkes offered.

"Yeah, and maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt." At the unspoken bewildered questions she offered under her breath, "Muggleism." That was the problem with magic, just about anything was possible.

"Right then. Highly improbable, but not impossible. If for any reason the conditions of Mr. Snape's imprisonment changes, he may be required to father children under Ministry law. Therefore, we have the following requests: Any children resulting from the union will be homeschooled and will never attend any muggle school. Upon reaching the age of eleven children will attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, provided they are not squibs."

Hermione nodded, she might not have agreed with the anti-muggle stance, but she understood it. Expected it really. That and it wasn't really worth fighting. On the ridiculous chance she was to bear the spawn of his seed, Hermione had always favored homeschooling anyway.

"Furthermore Miss Granger will be unable to deny his paternal rights."

"Meaning?" she looked questioning to Mr. Tatting.

"It means that if you conceive a child you can't petition to keep Mr. Snape from the child."

"Fine. What else?"

"You and any resulting children retain the Snape name."

"Out of the question. I'm staying a Granger. I could care less about kids, but I'm not taking his name. I have a reputation you know. I run a very successful business and I won't allow my company to take a hit for this." As far as Hermione was concerned this was non-negotiable.

"Hyphenate then perhaps," Ffoulkes suggested.

"No."

She watched with a slight feeling of triumph as the two men conferred. Mr. Ffoulkes turned back to the contract, frowned, before offering, "We're prepared to allow you to keep your name for the sake of your business, but any children will be Snapes."

"Agreed." The contract clause was amended, and Hermione was grateful she got one over on him.

"Good," Ffoulkes sat back looking considerably relieved. "Then the last bit of business we have here is the fidelity clause."

Hermione waived her hand dismissively. All marriages these days came with a standard Ministry-approved fidelity clause.

"We are requesting a full fidelity charm to ensure Mr. Snape will not be cuckolded in any way shape or form during his incarceration."

"But that's ludicrous! How insulting!" she cried.

"Is it Miss Granger? Is it really so hard to understand that a man wouldn't want his wife to take up with someone else."

"Under the Ministry approved clause I would be incapable of doing that."

Snape smiled a snagle tooth grin and Hermione thought again he looked like a pirate, a leering pirate. "Yes Miss Granger, but there's more than one way to fuck. Or do I need to draw a diagram?" She shuddered, absolutely uncomfortable with speaking with strangers about 'alternatives' to textbook intercourse.

"That's not something that you need concern yourself with Snape."

"Of course it is, you're sexual wellbeing is just as important to me as your overall health. If you have needs I want you to come to me first, not slink off someplace. I may not be able to give you the good fucking you so obviously are in need of, but I can be quite imaginative."

"Are you freakin' kidding me? I would never… _ever…_" Hermione shuddered a bit before reemphasizing, "EVER… consider coming to you for my so-called needs. Pervert."

"Don't flatter yourself Miss Granger you're not exactly a vision of beauty yourself. You're hardly a temptress in your wound-tight suits and prematurely lined face."

"Pardon me if I don't find it necessary to get frilled up for the likes of you."

"Obviously," he droned blandly. "But the fact remains even if you're unable to spread your wide hips and mannish legs for some equally unattractive fellow, you could still take up with one in some way or another. And that's something I'm disinclined to allow. Not when I can provide you the same form of relief."

"What part of _'I would never in a million years touch you'_ don't you understand Snape? Besides, I don't know what you think of me, but I don't get out. I don't run around with men now, and I can't see myself doing that in the future either."

"Why because you're a frigid bitch?"

"Yes! Exactly that. You've finally got me pegged. I'm a cold frigid bitch."

The statement hung in the air as every man in the room drew a breath. Such declarations were either made by harridans or women looking to start a fight. Either way the witch in question needed to be handled carefully, she was still armed with her wand, and that was how precious bits were lost. Severus recovered first.

"A virgin then?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow, curious as whether any bloke had managed to crack her cauldron. As a prefect Granger had a notorious reputation as a cockblocker.

"Hardly!" she snorted indignantly.

It was statistically impossible to live through seven hormone fuelled years at Hogwarts, survive the Final Battle, and still be a virgin. Hell, Snape had nearly caught her in the corridors at the end of sixth year. Thank the twelve apostles and all the hosts of heavenly angels for silencing charms and invisibility cloaks. That didn't mean she allowed her own charges to get away with such shenanigans. If they were stupid enough to get caught they deserved every detention.

"Lesbian?"

"Ha! You wish."

"Then you should have no problem in accepting the clause, though I'm prepared to be magnanimous and allow you use of your hand and any stimulating devices." There was way too much unadulterated mischief in his eyes for Hermione's liking. Not that she liked any of it one bit.

"Oh I'll sign your fucking clause. It was never my intension to cuckold you in the first place. I do have integrity you know. It's just so damn insulting to suggest I ever would. But this does not change the fact that I will never _ever_ touch you. And if you even attempt to lay your hands on me Snape, so help me God I will hex you so hard they'll be scraping bits of you off the walls for weeks."

Suddenly Snape looked like the cat that ate the canary at this little victory, "How I'd love to see the penseive you telling Potter this."

"Harry?" she asked, momentarily confused. "Why would…?"

It took awhile before comprehension dawned, when it did Hermione laughed and laughed unconcerned with the shocked faces from the men in the room. It was such a good laugh her side started aching and tears were forming in the corners of her eyes as Hermione gasped for breath.

It took several moments of gasping interspersed with fits of giggles before Hermione calmed. "I never… we never… Potter! Ha!" Wiping a tear from her cheek Hermione tried to keep it together before another round of giggles hit her. "Harry's gay. G… A… Y… GAY!" Gayer than the Headmaster's 'Very-Merry-Happy Un-birthday' robes, she wanted to add, but that might have been construed as an insult to Harry, which would have been blasphemous given the situation.

Oh the sight of Snape's reddened face was precious. She wanted to take a photo of it to cherish forever.

"Shit," he murmured underneath his breath, "Flitwick owes me twenty galleons."

He'd always taken Harry for a pouf. He'd have bet his every last galleon that James was one too. He'd always been too suspiciously close to that filthy flea-infested mongrel Black. Severus had nothing against homos. The world was full of centaurs, merpeople, half-whatevers, and unidentifiable 'its' that creeped around Knockturn Alley. Gay was downright unoriginal. But he drew the line, and his wand at using Lily as a beard. Especially because underneath it all James Potter – the Heartthrob of Gryffindor was such a fucking coward he couldn't tell his parents he preferred cock.

Still, Granger and Potter seemed unnaturally affectionate towards each other. Severus contented himself that he was still getting Potter's witch, in a way.

Ffoulkes cleared his throat and resorted to doing what he did best by reshuffling parchments while all parties at the table desperately tried to get back on track. "The fidelity clause was our final piece of business, and I believe that our side of the contract has been satisfied. Do you have anything to present?"

Hermione calmed instantaneously, the switch was so night and day Severus was impressed by it and idly wondered if Hermione happened to practice Occulmency.

"We have," Mr. Tattings spoke up. "On the subject of finances, Miss Granger retains full rights to her business, intellectual property, patents, savings, money market accounts, retirement fund, and venture capital investments. Additionally she will assume zero liability if any of Mr. Snape's investments require a bail out, or margin call. At no point in the future will she be required to support her husband or provide him with care beyond the agreed to contractual stipulations."

"You're very protective of your wealth Miss Granger," Mr. Ffoulkes added unnecessarily. His eyes were roaming appreciatively over the amended clause Mr. Tattings provided them with.

"I need to protect what's mine," Hermione shrugged.

"And what exactly do you do for a living," Severus couldn't help but ask. Normally he could care less what past students did, he didn't follow their careers unlike his predecessor Slughorn, but Severus couldn't help but be curious about his bride-to-be.

"I develop interdisciplinary personal and household products under several brand names."

"That's rather vague," he frowned.

"Perhaps, but then I create what interests me and typically there's a market for it. For example my first product was a hair care solution I developed for myself. The problem with Sleekeazy is that over time you have to use more and more of it to achieve the same look. I developed a solution incorporating both charms and potions that's much more manageable and longer lasting. It's still our biggest seller."

"And yet you couldn't be bothered to use your own product," he remarked, obviously eyeing her 'electrocuted hedgehog' fashion statement.

Unruffled Hermione easily replied, "I've made peace with my hair, but then I really am not trying to impress anyone. I have my business, my research… it's enough."

"And everything else is just a distraction?" Severus supplied, now he clearly understood her reluctance to visiting him. Severus knew exactly how frustrating it was to have to put down good research when a breakthrough was just beyond his grasp.

"Precisely. Which is exactly why you and I are sitting at this table."

Mr. Tattings took the opportunity to interrupt; they had been going at each other's throats for nearly three hours. "The financial issue was our only concern, that and Miss Granger's last name which has already been settled. Is there any further business?"

The room was strangely silent. It felt odd that they were finally finished.

Mr. Ffoulkes made a large production of ordering and reordering the parchments, and adding the additional financial clause, and with a few taps of his wand they were ready for signature.

"Oh just give that here," she huffed. Hermione hastily scrawled her otherwise perfect signature. If she hadn't signed it then and there she might never have. That, and Hermione was trying to keep her hand from shaking.

Severus Snape said nothing at all, but signed where indicated, watching the contract glow in a golden light, furl itself into a roll and settle back down, magically sealed.

They were now officially engaged.

Hermione turned to him with a vicious glare, "Will next Tuesday work for you?"

Next Tuesday was fish night, meaning an oily unseasoned and slightly cold cod fillet would be delivered to his cell. "Next Tuesday would be fine, just remember to bring the first of my requirements then." But then what did she expect? He'd be taking tea with the Queen?

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A/N: I broke down and finally got a LJ page tonight. So, I suppose the question is, 'Will you be my friend?' (giggle) .com/

* Thank you to everyone who left a kind review. I have been overwhelmed by your encouragement. AV


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 7 - Esto Perpetua**

It's said that all little girls picture their wedding day; they imagine big fairy-tale princess dresses, bouquets of flowers, and dancing with their perfect handsome groom. Hermione must have missed that memo. Truth be told, she spent her early childhood up a tree, skinning her knees on roller-skates, and teaching her teddy bear Pud the rudiments of phonetics from a child sized blackboard. Pud was a very well educated bear.

When the magic moment to prepare for her own wedding arrived, Hermione was at a bit of a loss. Not that she felt sorry for herself, or felt she was missing out on some sugary hearts and flowers moment. (Highly undesirable marriage proposals were still coming by way of owl.) More like she didn't exactly know how to best deal with what was traditionally supposed to be a romantic moment that was anything but. And honestly she had two meetings, a conference call, and a sick half-kneazle to deal with on the day of her wedding.

Hermione furiously tapped her foot while surveying the contents of her wardrobe. She was already running late and to phrase it lightly 'hadn't a damned thing to wear.' Already several dresses were discarded around the floor. When in doubt Hermione stuck with a basic black dress, it was always the safe choice. And yet that seemed unnecessarily insulting for both herself and her groom. Not that she was dressing for him… no not at all; this was about civility and decorum. Probably.

It was mid September, the leaves hadn't gone brown and crispy yet, meaning autumnal colors were perfectly acceptable. That, and according to _Witch Weekly_ they were the shades that looked the best on her. This should have narrowed her selection down, and yet, it didn't somehow. Hermione glanced at her bedside clock before swearing loudly. If she tarried any longer she'd miss getting through prison security on time. If only staff meeting hadn't run so long, but then staff meetings always ran long.

Hermione didn't have time to think about this. She waived her wand over the small blue blotch from a potions spill on the camel wool work robes she was already wearing to get rid of it, threw on her cloak, made another attempt to give Crooks his pill knowing full well it was futile, picked up Snape's 'care packages,' and disapparated. When she got through prison security, which took altogether much too long, they finally led her back into the same chamber where her marriage contract had been signed. This time someone had the foresight to move the table and chairs against the wall.

Several minutes later she was joined by the warden, a pale weedy man named Blotts, (of no relation to Blotts as in Flourish and Blotts) and a thoroughly unremarkable Ministry appointed officiator who looked curiously pleased by the proceedings. Hermione didn't bother with small talk, but waited for her groom to appear and tried not to tap her foot impatiently. He was late. Twenty minutes past the appointed time Severus Snape was brought in at wand-point to the room.

She scowled taking in his appearance, honestly would it have been too much trouble to wash? It's not like he had anything better to do all day. Not bothering to hide her disdain, Hermione flicked her wand at him sending another scourgify on his person. Severus was not amused.

"You're late."

He shrugged, time was a relative constraint. "No clock Miss Granger."

"Snape, no doubt to both of our relief, it's been years since I was your student. You can drop the _'Miss Granger-act'_ any day now."

Hermione turned to the Ministry stooge, "Can we get this going? I'd like to get out of here."

"Yes please hurry it up; my little Vixen can't wait to get me into my cell."

Before Severus had the opportunity to relish the effect his comment had on his bride, Hermione had her wand leveled squarely between his eyes. "Snape," she hissed, "I have no objections to becoming a widow, not when the Ministry is willing to grant me a year's grieving time as incentive."

"Now Hermione," he said in a rumbling seductive purr, "that's enough foreplay; we'll have time to rip into each other later." Ignoring her wand completely Severus turned his attentions to the Ministry official who clearly enjoyed every minute of their banter.

He coughed a few times, ostensibly to clear his throat and began, "Dearly beloved," Hermione and Snape both rolled their eyes. "We are gathered here to witness the marriage of Severus Theodore Snape and Hermione Jean Granger. If anyone here has any objections to their union please speak now." He paused with a lifted eyebrow waiting it seemed for someone to come to their senses before shaking his head and ploughing on.

"And do you have the rings?"

Hermione pulled a plain unadorned gold band from her pocket and tossed it to him. Really she could care less if the wizard ever bothered to wear it or not, but dutifully placed her own ring on her finger. There was no way she'd actually let him share the supposed romantic moment of exchanging rings. The whole wedding was too much a farce to desecrate how she actually felt about the sanctity of marriage.

"Will you Severus Theodore Snape pledge your steadfast and abiding love to Hermione, uphold the terms of your matrimonial contract, and support the Ministry approved guidelines governing the sacred and holy bond of marriage?"

"I will."

"Will you Hermione Jean Granger pledge your steadfast and abiding love to Severus, uphold the terms of your matrimonial contract, and support the Ministry approved guidelines governing the sacred and holy bond of marriage?"

"I will."

"Then by the power invested in me by the Ministry of Magic, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

"That's really not necessary…"

Hermione intended on saying more, but was summarily cut off. She found herself pulled quite forcefully into a hungry kiss by a man who stank, tasted badly, and felt dirty against her, but kissed quite heavenly. It only took Hermione a second to recover before pushing him hastily away. Not caring how unladylike it was, she made a rather large display of spitting.

"That was completely uncalled for. I told you I would never ever touch you!"

Hermione looked helplessly to the prison warden for some form of salvation, but he just murmured loud enough for the room to hear, "You married him."

And wasn't that a bitch?

Their marriage contract which had been sitting idly by on the far table glowed a golden color, the official signed his name, as did the warden, and it popped seemingly out of existence. And that was that. By Hermione's calculations the entire process had taken no more than thirty minutes, most of which were spent waiting on her groom. Ergo per stipulations of their contract she was obliged to spend another thirty minutes with him to satisfy the full hour.

'Bugger,' she mumbled under her breath.

"Come Vixen, our humble abode awaits." Severus held out his hand goading her to take it, which Hermione did not. Didn't she know he enjoyed her like this; all prissy and stuck up while consorting with vile criminals and humiliating herself in prison? Even if he never saw her again it was precious enough to live off for the rest of his life.

He watched her from behind as they were led to his cell, amused at her stiff legged strut, her head held imperiously high. She wanted the world to think her better than this, but the effort was wasted. Severus figured the truth was somewhere closer to her being a lost and scared little girl.

Good. She should be scared.

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A/N: Thank you to my beautiful reviewers. You make my day. I adore everybody's theories of what's going to happen. So many people are eagerly waiting for it all blowing up in Hermione's face. What _Freudenschat_, so much pent up aggression! Ah well, best laid plans and all that. Keep those theories coming!

Be a love, leave a review. Thanks! AV


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 8 – Cui bono?**

Hermione paused in the doorway. The stench was back; already her mind was clicking over the possibilities of a timed release freshening charm and possibly how much money it could bring in. She wouldn't set foot over the threshold until Hermione was satisfied that the funk was cleared away. The room didn't have to smell of lilacs or warm vanilla, actually Hermione despised the overly floral scents and figured Snape was of the same opinion, but it did have to smell fresh. Or neutral at least.

Once satisfied she walked in, followed by her new husband and their guards, who were impolitely snickering about wedding night rituals. The guards were quickly shut out.

"Hmm…" she frowned. "It's not much." An understatement. The cell wasn't anything at all. Ignoring her husband who lounged contentedly on the rotting cot, vaguely making a patting gesture as if she'd jump right in next to him, Hermione turned her attention to the room. She could care less how the traitor was domiciled during his sentence, but since she'd have to grace his presence twice a week, changes were in order.

The small room had only a few unremarkable features. A cot, sporting a thin nasty smelling mattress and equally disgusting and stained bedding (Both she and Severus had independently at separate times wondered just who exactly had died on it). A toilet, that Hermione shuddered to think about. A sink, attached into the stone wall. And the sexy leather armchair Hermione had left there the last time.

The only light source came from a solitary window a good ten feet above their heads.

That was where she started first; it made the most logical sense to start with the window. If the cell was cold in winter, stifling hot in summer, the climate charms were not holding. It was supposed to allow fresh air in, and maintain a constant comfortable temperature. Nothing she would do to freshen the air would make a damn bit of difference if she couldn't get some airflow into the place.

It took Hermione the better part of twenty minutes to repair and reinforce the crumbling old charms; they were probably original to the building. The floor was next. The bare stone was slightly muddy from water dripping down the walls and the occasionally backed up latrine. A simple scourgify wasn't going to cut it. Hermione wasn't even going to bother looking too closely at the toilet either; she just aimed her wand at it and blasted away.

Her attention immediately went to the accompanying sink as she wondered how much she could actually do for the rust in the water; certainly it came from the piping system throughout the prison. The salt sea air was most likely the culprit, but it still turned her stomach. She scoured out every bit of the sink and as far into the taps as she could reach before charming it not to back up. That was as good as she could manage without ripping out the wall. Inspiration then hit and she considered enlarging the shallow basin into a proper vanity. She toyed with stretching the tin lined copper sink wider without making the metal paper thin, but couldn't get it quite right. It just needed reinforcing and perhaps a surround. Though maybe it was…

"Hermione," her name softly whispered in her ear drew her mind back from the place it went when she lost herself in a task. Severus was standing right behind her, close enough that she could feel his warmth on her skin. And for a moment she could pretend he wasn't some unrepentant effing Deatheater. He placed his hand hesitantly on her shoulder and felt the muscles immediately stiffen.

"I… I… don't know what overcame me," she nervously wrung her hands together. Why was she so damn nervous? "I almost forgot these, silly me." She was babbling now. Just great.

Hermione pulled four parcels out of her pockets, setting them on his mattress, enlarged them and looked expectantly at him. What was she hoping for, his approval? Hermione shook her head and tried to separate the murdering Deatheater in the cell from the respected wizard she once knew.

Severus picked through one of the boxes she brought him. They hadn't exactly agreed when she would bring him what, or really specifically what he needed, but Hermione was a keen girl. She figured it out. Actually Hermione thought about what she'd need if she were to go on a camping trip and went from there. It was quite easy; she had enough camping experience to last a lifetime, and could safely admit she had no desire to ever walk in the woods again.

He ran his fingers across the handle of a silver shaving razor; it was supremely elegant and charmed not to nick the skin or dull. It was much too fine and elegant for him. Not here. Not after what he'd done. Severus didn't know why he suddenly felt so vulnerable, but he didn't want to unwrap anything more.

Not bothering to look at her Severus called out hoarsely, "You should go now."

"Damn it, I forgot to pack a mirror."

Severus winced. "Leave Hermione," he said louder.

"Next time I'll remember to bring more fresh bedding, until then I'll just clean …"

"Get out you stupid stupid girl!"

Her eyes went wide and wild. She had let her guard down. Turned her back on a man who'd probably not hesitate to Avada her.

Hermione pounded her fist violently on the cell door, screaming once again, "Let me out of here!"

As the door swung open on her command she allowed herself a parting glance, just quick enough to see her husband slumped defeatedly on the cot cradling his head in his hands. She was resolute, he didn't deserve her pity, and she wouldn't allow herself to feel anything but hate towards him.

When the cool North Sea breeze hit her face minutes later Hermione was surprised at how dark the sky had become in such a short amount of time, a quick look at her wristwatch confirmed the time.

"Damn!" she swore, "How'd I let him connive me into staying two hours?"

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A/N: Meant to update last night, but dinner party ran later than expected. Sorry! I promise to make it up to you this weekend especially since this chapter is very short. (it's a bridge)

Please consider leaving a review. Schmootches! AV


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 9 – Ex Post Facto**

The next morning Hermione was even worse for wear, she'd spent the night on the couch hurriedly scribbling every abstract thought and notation that came to her regarding freshening charms.

Every muggle corner market and stop-n-go shop had 'em; spritzers for the upholstery, socket fans filled with liquid potpourri, even little evergreen trees for the automobile. The wizarding world didn't bother with such things. What was the use? A few waives of a wand and the air was clear and fresh again.

But what if they could be convinced they needed something like that? Hermione could create a market for some such charmed device, witches would be wondering how they ever go along without one.

Her head pounded with the possibilities. Granddaddy Granger smelled of warm pipe tobacco, flannel shirts, and his fishing hole after a good rainstorm. It was the kind of scent that inspired comfort and many happy memories. Occasionally when she pined for his bear hugs and mugs of cocoa on the back porch she tried to think about how he smelled and often wished she could just inhale whole big lungfuls of it at a time. Was it possible to create an enchanted device to absorb a scent, regardless of how complex, and faithfully reproduce it on command? How many galleons would someone pay for something like that?

Her staff would not be happy. At least not until the bonus checks were drafted.

Hermione had them working around the clock on all sorts of projects covering every discipline of magic. They needed a break. She needed a vacation. But more importantly she needed to expand. What started in the Weasley's garage five years ago, had moved and expanded four times since then. This time she would just purchase the warehouse outright. Eight months ago when Hermione knew she needed to expand she balked at the idea of ever filling up a two story warehouse and settled on a more 'manageable' space. Now she just wished she had the time to talk to a realtor again.

Time. That was yet another project. If she ever had the time to get around to it. True all the 'known' Time-turners had been destroyed in her fifth year of Hogwarts, but the original research still existed. Granted, it was mostly in Middle English, but eventually Hermione would get 'round to it. Then maybe she'd have the time to hit the stacks of half formed ideas and shelved projects. Maybe. At present, if Hermione had a time turner she'd cuddle up with her pillow and tell the world to bite her ass.

"Crooks!" she screamed, "I'm running late so get your gingy-butt over here."

She knew he understood her perfectly well; every morning was the same fight. Even in the magical realm there wasn't an easy or pleasant way of giving a cat a pill. Crooks was too smart to take it in his food, too cunning to let her sucker him into it with a belly rub, and much too devious to let himself be found every morning when she hollered for him. And of course Crooks was smart enough to know he needed to take it. That was the problem with Kneazles, too bloody smart. Not that she'd stand for a dunderheaded familiar.

"If I have to go hunting for you it'll be much worse. I'm in no mood to play!"

Hermione didn't have the luxury of waiting on his master's leisure this morning.

"I'll stun you if I have to!" Of course she didn't really mean it, how could she? The sad truth was Crooks was no longer a kitten. Hermione had a difficult time imagining he'd ever been a kitten. Kittens had kitten-fur, soft spiky kitteny-fur. Crooks would never have stood for it. Sadly though, he was getting on in years.

She tapped her foot before threatening, "One! …" a faint scurrying sound came from the bedroom "Two! …" She could hear his nails clattering on the wood floor. "Three!"

The grumpy half-kneazle came to a lurching halt in front of her feet and eyed her with angry yellow eyes. She met his glare, "Oh don't give me that, you marmalade monster. You know it's for your own good."

Hermione proffered the pill that was supposedly beef flavored and yummy for cats and kneazles alike (Ha!) and watched him grumble a bit before taking it from her. "And I'd better not come back to find it on the rug again." Hermione could have sworn he rolled his eyes at him, but once the pill was gone she offered him a chicken treat. "Good baby," she crooned.

"Right. Fine. Now that's settled…" Hermione glanced around her kitchen and parchment littered living room, "Where's my satchel? I swear… the story of my life, once I get it all together, I can't remember where I put it… "

Years ago she'd graduated from her small beaded bag that held mostly everything to a Mommy-purse that really did hold everything, before having to trade it in for a messenger bag that held everything plus the proverbial kitchen sink. Hermione pondered a possible scientific explanation. _The Law of Expanding Crap_. The more room she had to house crap the more crap she found that needed to be housed. It was all patently unfair.

She didn't honestly have time for this, even if she was the boss, Hermione would never think of coming in late or miss a single day of work. That would be inexcusable. "Accio Satchel!" she cried before cringing as a heap of books flipped over. The moments were few and far between, but there were moments when Hermione found herself wishing for a house elf. A little help every now and then wasn't so much to ask for, was it?

The moment Hermione arrived at work she was instantly assailed.

Edwards handed her a stack of phone messages, her daily calendar, and the status report of each current project.

Hopper wanted to bend her ear just for a tick, which meant he wanted at least an hour of face time to schmooze.

Gibson was on to something, which was either earth shatteringly good or bad enough to unmake all creation and break several laws of physics.

And Jordan wanted more time off because his wife was going into labor… right now.

Jordan was given the week. Thankfully Edwards suggested that he send flowers to the new family or else she certainly wouldn't have thought about it. Hermione delegated that task to him.

Hopper was put off. Indefinitely, if at all possible.

First priority was to check on Gibson, Hermione couldn't really afford any more explosions. The muggles got all flighty last time that happened.

It turned out Gibson was on to something, but nothing dramatic, which was just great with Hermione, she couldn't handle much more drama.

By the time she made it to her own office it was past lunch, the phone messages had tripled, and she hadn't even had the opportunity to check her email. No doubt her inbox would be full.

Whereas most wizards wouldn't give the muggle world a second glance, having an office where electricity and internet connection were available was a necessity. Really the technology gave her quite an advantage over all of her competitors. Most of her staff was accustomed to the strange muggle contraptions and laptops that dotted most of the workstations.

It wasn't that she tried to hire muggleborns, but she mostly snapped up the students that the Ministry tended to overlook regardless of their genius; which invariably meant muggleborns. In all actuality Hermione was more concerned with that intangible spark of brilliance and creative thinking than abbreviations after a name. Before any product was launched it was thoroughly vetted by a series of subject-matter Masters, but most of her staff had only a Hogwarts education.

Surprisingly this had the opposite effect of what everyone told her to expect. Early on Hermione was given advice to hire only Masters, but shortly found out that most Masters spent their time arguing with her about why something could not be done. It just wasn't worth the effort.

As most Hogwarts graduates couldn't get apprenticeships if they didn't have experience, and couldn't get experience unless they had apprenticeships they were usually stuck in a weird jobless limbo. Especially if they had the blemish of being muggleborn on their transcripts. But she never had to argue with them when she proposed a new project.

Oh certainly there were some incredulous looks and more than a few of them said 'One. Two. Three. Not it!' But to date nobody had ever jumped on her desk whining and complaining that she was asking them to do something fundamentally impossible. Maybe only theoretically impossible.

By the end of the day, which was somewhere between quitting time and dawn, Hermione had caught up on email, sorted through most of the research left with her, read all the progress reports (which usually took forever because she constantly had to edit, add her own comments, look up facts, and suggest other alternatives), and most of the phone calls had been returned with the exception to the ones who didn't appreciate being called in the middle of the night. Along the way she managed to grab a bit of nosh courtesy of the clever muggle magic machine the 'microwave.'

Which just meant Hermione had time to apparate home and drop in bed only to wake five hours later and do it all over again.

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A/N: Per Rini's review, here are the translations of the Chapter titles.  
Nolens Volens – Whether willing or not (also willy nilly)  
Non Compos Mentis – Of unsound mind (Yeah, that sums up propositioning Snape)  
Via Media – The middle path  
Consul – Lawyer  
Caveat Emptor – Let the buyer beware – the next chapter was Caveat Emptor ETC – which is 'and so forth'  
Esto Perpetua – It is everlasting (wedding scene)  
Cui Bono? – Who does it benefit?  
This chapter is Ex Post Facto – After the fact.

Be a love, leave a review. _Thank you!_ AV


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

A/N: Another short chapter I'm afraid. Though it should be 100% fluff free. Later chapters are much longer. Look for chapter updates on Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays.

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**Chapter 10 – Ad hominem**

They sat there, looking nothing less than perfect. It was even a bigger bundle than he'd ever netted on any Christmas or Birthday haul. Four large white paper boxes sitting on the cushion of a stylish leather armchair, the red tissue paper peeking out artfully. In another time and place a glamorous photograph for a department store could have been taken.

It was as if someone had meticulously conceptualized exactly what he needed, and executed the plan flawlessly. Severus expected nothing less from his most impressive student. Hermione never did anything in half measures, she was too detail oriented and obsessive for anything short of perfection. He wasn't certain what was contained in the rest of the boxes; he had only gotten so far as unwrapping the first few items before being overcome by something, a feeling, he couldn't quite explain, but made him feel very uncomfortable.

So the boxes sat. And he sat. Trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Didn't he want this? To make the best of a bad situation? Manipulate the witch just a bit? Get a few kicks and lighten up the misery in his life?

Why did the witch have to get him the best of everything? If the first items were anything to judge by Hermione had spent a small fortune on items that would have made Lucius green with envy.

Why?

Surely she realized he was in Azkaban prison. The girl wasn't dense enough to think that he had anyone to impress here. The dementors, though still well employed by the Ministry were no longer in residence since the Prison Reform Act, so he had no reason to bribe a guard.

So the boxes sat. And he sat.

After what might or might not have been several hours of a staring contest, Severus blinked first. There was no use for it. The boxes couldn't possibly contain anything that would actually bite him, and he'd look like a damned fool if she came waltzing in the door only to see he hadn't move a muscle other than to get the boxes as far away from his bed as possible. He had to open them, if for no other reason than to prove he wasn't a coward.

And that was another thing, just when was Hermione going to decide to show up? The chit hadn't as much as given him notice. This was the girl that lived and died by her schedule. What if she decided to pop in while he was doing something important? He'd be damned if he'd rearrange his schedule for her.

Mornings were sit-ups, crunches, squats, and whatever range of motion exercises he could manage given the small space. Running obviously was completely out, but he managed to get some cardio in by huffing and puffing through as many jumping jacks as he could.

Afternoons were dedicated to silent meditation, reciting brewing instructions, and the occasional attempt at teaching himself more wandless magic. The wandless magic bit was only to keep himself busy, there was really nothing he seriously wanted to use magic for. What exactly would he do, 'Accio toilet paper?'

In the evening he did his most serious thinking by composing potions in his head and dwelling on things that made him want to crawl into his disgusting mattress.

No, Severus was quite busy and really didn't have much time at all for the witch in his life. If she knew what was best for her she'd avoid just casually dropping by, mucking with his schedule and all that. He liked his life just fine. In fact it was perfect. Just dandy.

"Oh fuck it all."

Severus grabbed the partially unpacked box and dumped the contents out on his cot. He certainly wasn't afraid of a few grooming products.

The girl had taste. Or at least an idea of what he liked, which of course was always tasteful. The most exquisite french-milled herbal soaps. A proper set of shaving lathers to accompany the wicked shaving razor. Nail clippers. Clean smelling deodorant. Assorted scrub brushes for every body part imaginable, and thank the gods above a package of fresh towels to replace the disgusting rag she'd transfigured into his much loved leather armchair. Surely her place in the heavens was assured.

Practical items all in all. Manly even.

The most fascinating of all were the bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Granger's own brand, _Good-Hair Day._ He had no idea why anyone would want to call a hair product _Good Hair Day,_ it would seem to suggest there was something such as a _Bad Hair Day,_ but he chocked it up to her bizarre eccentricities. Severus read the labels twice. To say he was impressed was an understatement. No wonder the girl was successful.

It was a universal truism; people always wanted what they didn't have. Girls with heads full of enviable curls always wanted straight stringy hair. Stringy haired poor bastards like himself craved a bit of wave and body. Hair products catered to that need and raked in the galleons promising to transform any head into the 'ideal.' Not Granger's. Her charmed-cleanser/potion simply promised to give the user the best outcome based upon what nature dictated. And because it worked with nature instead of against it the product was non-abrasive.

Clever clever girl. He idly wondered what exactly she'd look like on a 'good hair day,' though most likely it would take a weed-whacker to get any desired effect.

One box down and Severus was feeling less apprehensive about the situation on the whole. Actually he was a bit angry with himself for his moments of weakness. Weakness, that was all that it was. He was growing soft and sentimental in his imprisonment. Why should he deny himself whatever luxuries he could grab a hold of while caged up like an animal?

He wasn't quite certain to make of the clock and calendar duo. Did he really want to number his days? Take stock and account for the hours that slipped past him in silent mockery? It was all typical Hermione, never once could he remember an instance of her being late to a class. Severus supposed that if she wasn't able to plan her waking hours down to the minute the poor girl would come utterly undone. Control freaks were all the same. The clock was quickly put aside. He was on nobody's time but his own.

The next three boxes were quickly sorted through and Severus now had a huge fluffy pile of red tissue paper. If she hadn't included a role never-ending toilet paper he'd be a happy boy just with the packaging. As Severus was now in possession of several items and not a damn place to stow any of them; back in the magically expanding boxes they went.

But first he changed into one of his new sets of robes. There was nothing comparable to the utterly sublime feeling of a new set of robes especially after two years of practical undress. The wool wasn't as soft as he would have preferred, and the cut wasn't precisely to his own tailor's specification, but then he had lost a great deal of weight. At least she got the color right.

Severus nearly felt human again. In fact when he closed his eyes and occulded his mind the world seemed strangely right for the moment, but then the moment quickly passed.

The truth was that even though he had fresh linens and bedding of a disgustingly high Egyptian cotton thread count he wouldn't dare throw them atop his fetid mattress, or let his new robes come in contact with it either. So the old grey prison clothes came back on and the luxuries packed away.

Severus only allowed himself the joy of picking at will from the generous amount of books and periodicals she'd thrown in.

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Ad hominum: To the person. (To appeal to feelings rather than reason)

_Please be kind and leave a review. Thank you. AV_


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 11 – Multum In Parvo**

Severus was gracefully lounging on his armchair reading when Hermione silently peered through the jailer's slot. She held off Mulciber for the moment, intrigued by the novelty of silently observing the enigmatic man. In some way it was a strange retribution for the many times he had silently stalked her in the halls. A thin wry smile was playing at the corner of his lips and Hermione itched to know which book had him captivated.

"Prisoner 11652 present yourself!" Mulciber yelled.

_"Oh bloody hell!"_

Severus scrambled to find a scrap of parchment to mark his page; he was too much of a bibliophile to ever consider dog-earing the pages. Scowl firmly affixed in place, Severus stood and held his arms out wide to show he wasn't carrying anything dangerous.

The heavy door swung inward as his wife stepped through causing his chest to seize up. Hermione looked as casual as always, dirty trainers, trendy indigo jeans, and a snug t-shirt loudly proclaiming her to be _Mugglicious,_ but her glossy brown hair hung in perfect doll-like corkscrew curls. Well, that was one mystery solved.

"Mrs. Granger, I thought you didn't use your hair products."

"I don't usually," she replied flippantly, "meeting with the distributors. Rat bastards."

"Indeed?"

"You don't want to know."

Truth be told she spent way too many hours fighting them. They provided no other service but move her product to the market, took a way bigger share of the profits than they should, and were forever giving her a migraine between her eyebrows that she just couldn't shake. But then there was nothing for it, it was the 'cost of doing business.' She'd take on the task of doing it all herself, but then there was only so much of her to go around and she was already stretched thin enough.

"No, I suppose I do not." Was he really trying to make polite conversation with the girl? It wasn't possible that he was actually interested in her day.

Hermione held out another white box for him, no doubt loaded with more loot he wasn't certain he wanted. "Here, some things I forgot. And I wasn't sure if you liked milk chocolate, dark chocolate, or white chocolate, so I got them all. Though you strike me as the dark chocolate type."

"I am," he interjected. Hermione was wringing her hands obviously nervous to see him again. "Thank you, you didn't have to… what I mean is… I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

"Even though you haven't unpacked your other items?" she said pointing at the stacked white boxes peeking out from under his cot.

Severus arched an eyebrow. Was the girl really picking a fight after he had unnecessarily thanked her? "And just where do you suggest I unpack them to?" he remarked in his coldest voice, "The lounge? The study? My opulent bathroom perhaps?"

Hermione closed her eyes berating herself for not thinking clearly. "You're right of course. I haven't thought this as properly through as I thought I had. I've been a bit distracted lately. I'm sorry."

She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip she needed to find an item with enough matter to transfigure it into shelving, but nothing that he'd miss. Hermione spied the smoothed down pile of red tissue paper. There was probably just enough to get three shelves, at least until she could bring something more substantial. Carefully aiming her wand Hermione poured her concentration into its construction.

It took several minutes and the finished product wasn't as impressive as she would have liked. As a more solid substance would have provided the raw matter necessary for a proper transfiguration, but for the moment the slightly rickety white bookshelf was adequate. That, and it fit against the wall at his bedside.

"Will that do for now?" she asked looking to him for approval.

Severus nodded and was briefly rewarded with a dazzling smile. _'My gods this girl is emotionally starved,'_ he thought to himself.

"So… you found everything alright then. The robes fit, because I wasn't to certain of your measurements, I can take them back if it's necessary." Hermione couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice that he was still dressed in his drab prison grey robes, or that he still looked vaguely like a pirate. A slightly cleaner pirate, who smelled faintly of herbal soap, but the beard and wild hair were still a bit disconcerting.

"They are. I simply don't wish to dirty them," Severus gestured to his filthy cot and rotting mattress.

Hermione immediately took the unsubtle hint, and with a careful swishes and flicks treated the offending piece of furniture to a barrage of industrial cleaning spells. "This will also have to do for now. I'll bring you something more permanent next time. I really must apologize I'm not usually this absent minded. I should have thought, I just don't know what's wrong with me. I don't mean to insinuate that I'm not taking my obligations seriously, I am, I truly am. It's just sometimes it's like I forget to think past the details I wrap myself up in and …"

"Hermione," Severus softly interrupted. She was babbling again. "You haven't been sleeping have you?"

She turned to him with damp frightened eyes. "I'm fine, really. I'm just a bit behind."

Severus sat on the cleaned mattress and gestured for her to take his armchair. He watched with a slightly amused expression as she collapsed into it. "Are you? Are you really?"

"A bit behind? Yes, but only just. I figure if I can burn through my quarterly reports this weekend I might be able to have a leg up on next week. We've got our annual production meeting coming up and well, it'll throw everything else off… you know," she gave a nervous laugh, "Not like I was going to do anything else this weekend anyway."

"That's not what I meant," he said frowning. "Are you fine?"

"What? No, I'm fine, really."

He gave her another appraising look. She looked too well rested to possibly be this upset. "Hermione, you're not fooling me. Drop the glamour."

She touched her face with a look of shock wondering how he possibly knew. "Oh this silly thing? It was just for the distributor's meeting."

"Then you won't mind dropping it."

"I can't possibly; I look ghastly without makeup on."

Severus nodded and crossed his arms across his chest. "Making excuses are we?" It must have been worse than he expected.

"I don't take orders from you Snape. Besides let's not deceive ourselves, you needn't pretend to care."

What could he say to that? Severus couldn't argue with her. He'd be an idiot to suggest he did care. "Do as you please," he said causally, "I'll not enquire after your welfare again. It only seemed the polite thing to do, but I see my efforts are wasted." There. That should put her off.

She checked her watch hoping to see her hour had run out. It hadn't. A change of topic was definitely needed. Hermione couldn't remain there for another minute if it meant listening to yet another person badger her about taking better care of herself. Just who did he think he was? A Weasley?

"I noticed you were reading a book when I came in…" There. That sounded decidedly neutral enough, and truth be told she was still just a wee bit curious.

"Yes," he picked up the hardback book, thankful for the change in conversation. "You loaded me up with plenty of muggle literature."

"I didn't know what you liked to read, but I figured you hadn't read any muggle titles before."

"And there you've assumed correctly." Another mystery solved. Severus figured she was just trying to shove her culture down his throat.

At least he was able to get in a fairly intelligent conversation out of the deal as they debated the merits of muggle versus wizarding literature. Although Severus had very few superlatives to say about muggle literature, it did have one thing going for it. Science Fiction. A wizarding Science Fiction novels were abysmal. Very few bookstores were willing to carry them and no self-respecting witch or wizard would take a crack at writing them for a wizarding audience.

Witches and wizards had absolutely no apprecation for Science Fiction for no other reason than they couldn't find an audience that was able to suspend their disbelief or understand the concept of fantasy. When confronted with Science Fiction wizards overwhelmingly shrugged their shoulders and didn't get it. Most lofty and outer-worldly ideas were either part of everyday life or taken as a suggestion as something to try. He recalled with amazing clarity a daft Hufflepuff wizard in his graduating class who had taken it upon himself to hunt the Giant Squid simply because he believed it was in the habit of attacking some muggle submarine.

"This one though is fairly amusing," he said holding up the book he'd been reading while the evil minx had been spying on him, "Robinson Crusoe. I must say I now finally understand the phrase, 'Only Robinson Crusoe had everything done by Friday.'"

"Oh if only we all could!" she gave a light laugh.

"The house-elves should be a great help to you in getting things done you know. Unless you're not letting them work for you." Severus frowned; the thought of a house full of idle lazy elves was not appealing. It wasn't pleasant when elves were unable to serve or left too long to their own devices. They had a habit of going quite mad. The pathetic excuse for an elf Kreature was only one example of that.

"What? No I haven't moved into your Homestead yet. I've been far too busy to move."

"Madam Granger was that not a term of our contract! You are obligated to move in."

"You never stipulated when I had to move! Besides, I've still got six months left on my flat's lease. You can't expect me to break a previous contract; clearly it should be grandfathered in."

"And in six months will you then have the time to move or will you be just as dragged out and harassed as you are now?"

"I'm not… I'm not… Oh screw it, we're done here. I shouldn't have to put up with this crap from you." Hermione glanced at her watch; it just wasn't moving fast enough, she had another fifteen minutes of her required visiting hour left. She stood intent on reaching the door when his hand caught her shoulder. Severus pinned her back against his chest.

"Hermione, please stay." Did he have to say he was sorry? "You're right; it's unfair that I've asked you to uproot your life without considering your other responsibilities." He really was trying to be gentle and Severus felt a touch of pride as she relaxed into his embrace. "Don't break your lease, stay the six months, but I do want the old house occupied. It's been vacant for far too long."

Hermione closed her eyes, it felt good just to be held, comforted. When she realized she was still standing in his embrace Hermione quickly stepped away.

"I should still be going. Even though it's Friday night I've got a lot to do."

He nodded his understanding.

"I assume seeing you next Tuesday will work with your schedule? Perhaps we can keep this going fairly regularly. Tuesday and Friday nights I mean."

Severus only shrugged. If she hadn't told him it was a Friday he wouldn't have known otherwise. "That sounds agreeable."

"Fine, I'll pencil you in." She pulled a strange black plastic muggle device of some sort from her satchel and began playing with a stick on its face.

"What is that?" he asked as his curiosity got the better of him. Muggle technology had never held a particular interest for him, but she was staring quite intently at it as if it held great importance.

"My crackberry. It won't synch up here, but once I'm back in the so-called real world it'll hook back up with my Outlook. I think it has to do with the electro-magnetics involved with wizarding wards that plays havoc with muggle technology. If I can find a work around for it I'll have more gold than Gringotts."

She glanced up at Severus and noted his dull expression. Obviously he was trying to cover up his ignorance for feigned disinterest. Perhaps a translation was in order.

"It holds my calendar among other things," she explained.

"Oh."

"Until Tuesday then?"

"Yes. Good night Hermione."

She gave him the slightest hint of a smile. "Good night Severus."

As the door closed behind her Severus fell into his armchair as if all the support had been knocked out of his knees. Severus took a long moment to absorb the entire night's proceedings, turning their conversations over and over in his mind as he'd do every day until Tuesday.

When he opened his eyes the new white box drew his attention. The witch had mentioned chocolate, hadn't she?

Oh, the box contained chocolate and as tempting as fine Honeydukes bars and truffles. But Saint Hermione truly earned her nickname by sending him an enchanted self-heating teapot and a generous box of Fortnum & Mason tea. Severus' fingers softly caressed the proper eight cup brown betty. This meant more to him than a perfect cuppa. This meant access to hot water. Real hot water.

He might just start to feel human after all.

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Chapter title: _Multum in parvo_ - A lot in a little

_HUGE THANK YOU!_ to Rini for helping and correcting my Latin, and to TenderQuaintWitch for researching you-know-what for both SS and HG. I even like the believable-beliefs. You both rock.

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_Thank you_ to everyone who has left a review. You keep me highly amused and encouraged. AV


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 12 - Saepe Creat Molles Aspera Spina Rosas**

Gibson was at it again. Of all her R&D techs Imelda Gibson was her most brilliant and inspired thinker. Hermione tried to give her all the latitude she needed to freely create. Unfortunately Gibson's muse seemed to be less of an angel and more of a horrible shit-spewing demon and she did her best work in the late at night on the weekends. This meant for Hermione, her fantasy of finishing quarterly reports over the weekend was dashed upon the cruel rocks of reality when Gibson blew up the lab. Again.

The containment fields didn't hold either. A large hole was blasted through the outer cinderblock wall causing Muggle media to speculate that it was an act of urban terrorism. Hermione's working weekend was spent making up press releases, talking to the authorities, and trying to salvage what was left of her experimental potions lab. The only good thing she had to say about the entire debacle was that Imelda had proper warning of the impending explosion and protected herself with a powerful shield and walked away with a few bruises.

Hopper immediately argued was direct result of her utter incompetence, but then Hopper really hadn't produced a single noteworthy invention since joining the company. Hermione was sorely tempted to fire him, not because of his lack of results, but simply on principal. The man was a tiring ass to get along with.

Her saving grace was that Lee Jordan was back from leave meaning he could pick back up on the Charms research that was slipping, but Jordan was having a difficult time concentrating. Every time Hermione visited the floor Jordan was chatting with another co-worker pushing pictures of cooing baby Felicity in their faces. In a fit of weary bitchiness Hermione snapped at him yelling to get his arse back to work. It was not her finest moment.

Not even her assistant Jake Edwards who she leaned heavily upon to be the one to smooth things over could help her there. Lee immediately took offense and raged that if they hadn't been mates at school he would have told her to stick the job up where the sun didn't shine long ago.

Stupidly, Hermione shot back that if he really felt that way he could leave at any time.

And he did.

Bugger, bugger, and double bugger.

Hermione employed twenty five workers, but only six of them were part of the Research and Development lab that she so desperately needed. The rest of her employees were either lab assistants or worked the production line. And though they were all fairly competent and highly skilled none of them were promotable to R&D.

Lee packed up his desk Monday afternoon leaving behind a mountain of half finished research notes and backed up reports. Hermione didn't know where the hell she was going to find another Charms maverick; she'd pinched Lee away from the Twins by throwing extraordinary amounts of Galleons at him. As far as she was concerned he was irreplaceable.

Tuesday evening saw Severus agitatedly pacing his cramped cell like a caged tiger. Occasionally an eye would drift to the bedside calendar clock duo she graciously bestowed upon him so that he could be constantly informed of how long he'd been incarcerated. The clock shuffled between the ledge on the back of the loo and the farthest darkest corner he could find in the deepest of the extendable boxes depending on his mood.

Given his current mood he was inclined to smash the damn thing as hard as he could into the wall. As much as he yearned for his wand, physically destroying it would be immensely pleasurable. He pondered the effect the enchantments would have if he pitched it through his window. Would it bounce? He'd have to amuse himself destroying the clock cog by cog another time.

They supposedly had an appointment, one that she had even scheduled. By judging daylight his wife was standing him up. The inconsiderate tart, she knew how he felt about punctuality.

His bed was made, tea and biscuits were set out, he was wearing his new robes, and damn it, Severus had shaved. Did the witch not appreciate what he was putting himself through for her? It had taken all of his will power to gaze into the mirror she had brought for him. Severus had not wanted to see himself and once he had he'd regretted it immediately.

It took the better part of several hours to clip his long hanging beard and groom his shaggy hair. Her _Good Hair Day_ product line needed several applications to cut through the cakiness of his matted hair before a comb would run through it properly, but once clean he was able to secure it into a suitable pony tail at the nape of his neck.

Apparently 'Mother Nature' deemed that his best look was the same as his regular-every day look. Her miracle shampoo did not produce a single wave or curl, but it did tingle and smell good. The remnants of his beard were easily swept away by a proper shave with what he now termed his 'wicked little blade.'

Gods, he almost looked presentable if one could get over the fact that he was still rotting in Azkaban.

Severus was close to throwing an all out tantrum when Mulciber's annoying whine called out, "Prisoner 11652 present yourself!"

"About damn time you got here witch!" Severus obligingly held his arms out wide to demonstrate he wasn't wielding any sharp objects or weapons as much as he would have liked to.

As the wards dropped the door swung open. Severus saw her worn brown leather satchel, nearly bursting at the seams first before Hermione followed lumbering behind it. Severus easily recognized the satchel as the kind purported to hold anything and everything; he curiously wondered how she had gotten it so stuffed to the gills that she could barely manage it. Perhaps she really was moving out of her flat and had packed up the household into it.

"Sorry! Sorry! I know I'm late. I hate being late. I hope you're not too put out."

Hermione dropped her satchel with a heavy thud and a wince before looking up at Severus.

"Oh my…" she gaped. "You're dressed."

"And you're not." Severus said smugly.

If it was at all possible the witch looked worse for wear than he'd ever seen her, the week before O. included. All her perfect spiral curls had fallen out and resumed their unmanageable fly-away appearance. Her Glamours weren't holding. The tell-tale shimmers around her face and eyes obviously meant she didn't have the energy to properly sustain them. And Hermione's navy robes were rumpled, and if Severus had to guess he figured she had definitely slept in them. The only question was for how many days.

Hermione collapsed ungracefully into his leather armchair while Severus again sat on the bed.

"Please, I could really give a rat's arse how I look." She gave him a shy sweet smile, "but I really didn't mean to be rude. You look very nice tonight."

Hermione fought herself not to call him 'Professor,' but that's exactly how he appeared. The haggard pirate was gone, and Hermione was staring at her Potions Professor.

The wizarding world had given her vocabulary for colors. There was Inferi white, killing-curse acid green, and Voldemort red. None of those were quite as indelibly inscribed on her psyche as Snape black. Seeing him again in his black robes caused Hermione to fight the natural instinct to punctuate every statement with 'Sir, yes Sir.'

"Thank you. I was hoping we might have a civilized evening," he gestured to the small tea service.

"That sounds perfect right about now," Hermione was literally too tired to argue. If he had suggested they spend the evening making sock puppets and playing Gobstones she doubted she'd have the energy to say no.

As the delicate warm Assam brew eased down her throat Hermione relaxed further into the cushions. It was absolute heaven just to sit and do f-all nothing, even if the moment wasn't meant to last. Hermione didn't allow herself much more than a minute. While Severus offered her a small plate of wafer thin orange spice biscuits Hermione was already digging around in her satchel looking for the correct over-filled three ring binder.

Her binders were organized by subject matter and then further subdivided in several categories; backburner-working, currently-working, immediately-working, and you-had-better-get-your-tail-on-this-right-away-working. For some reason all of her work was currently flagged in the latter category. She was thinking of another category of; you-idiot-why-haven't-you-worked-this-working.

For his part, Severus stared at her agog. How dare she? The witch had no right to come into his home (for lack of a better word) and proceed to do homework. She was on his time.

"Put that away," he growled, throwing the plate of biscuits a bit violently on his bedspread. There'd be crumbs there tonight, but he didn't give a damn.

"Huh? Wha-?"

Hermione looked up at him, her silver wire rim reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose threatening to fall off. Her mum had always warned her that reading in the dark would catch up with her, but she never suspected that it would take place so early in life.

"Are you deaf in addition to blind Madam Granger? I said put that away. This is not a library."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, "Who the hell are you to dictate how I spent my hour with you? I've got real work to do, so if you please, leave me to it and I'll leave you to your tea and biscuits!"

"Granger," he growled out deep and menacingly, "Do not make me repeat myself again. Put the work away. We are going to attempt to have a normal civilized evening like normal civilized people." He held out his hand daring her to say 'no' and Hermione reluctantly passed him her satchel.

In a more quiet voice Severus asked, "Can you really not spare an hour?"

Hermione slowly shook her head, pulling the spectacles from her nose. She slumped defeated into the chair.

"What happened?" he asked gingerly.

"Do you really want to hear it? I'm sure I'll just bore you to tears."

Severus raised a single sublime eyebrow, "Madam, do I look like someone who's easily moved to tears?"

Closing her eyes Hermione began her story with the explosion that disrupted her lab, fried a critical hard drive, and caused her to lose all sleep that weekend. Never mind the fact that she had to give multiple statements to the authorities and reporters that she was NOT running a meth-lab (Severus didn't ask). The blast was large enough and witness by Muggles who had camera phones so Ministry Oblivators weren't even able to be called in before it hit the evening news. Instead they quickly made up a story about a storage locker filled with medical oxygen tanks and employed lots of Fascination charms for a distraction.

Severus followed intently as she described the falling out with Jordan and what it meant to her Charms department. She hadn't begun searching for someone to take his place, but it became evident that she didn't even have the time to hold interviews. Instead Hermione was shouldering the burden. Her ranting about quarterly reports, production meetings and supply chain woes began to break down as Hermione ran out of steam. She was holding on to her sanity by a quickly unraveling thread.

Severus was stumped when the tears finally broke from her misty eyes. He'd seen more than his share of school children crying, but somehow handing her a tissue and telling her to get to class didn't sit right. He'd been patient with his own House, fatherly, indulgent even, but was uncertain if Hermione would react favorably to coddling. Then again the witch seemed to need a bit of coddling. And to his own astonishment he wanted to soothe her. She was his wife, _his_ responsibility. Fuck. That meant he probably should attempt to do something nice for her.

Hermione barely registered being picked up out of the armchair, but when his warm strong arms wrapped around her Hermione could have cared less that she was sitting in his lap like a small child and just allowed herself the divine luxury of having a good hard cry. And cry she did, until she tuckered herself out from the sheer exhaustion of letting it all out. Hermione fell into such an exhausting sleep she didn't stir when he put her to bed.

As she slept her Glamours slipped and Severus could only shake his head. Hermione was doing her best Human-Bowtruckle impression. Why was it that a woman with a life ahead of her and all the opportunity in the world looked worse than an Azkaban prisoner?

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A/N:  
Chapter title: Saepe Creat Molles Aspera Spina Rosas - Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses.  
The chapter title comes from Ovid as a nod to Snape's nature. Though I don't know if he'd approve of the sentiment… or the rose reference.

Be a love, leave a review. Thanks! AV


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 13 – Fides Punica**

In the very early hours of the day, long before the sun announced its presence through his window Severus sat in his armchair lost in paperwork. The night had been an exercise in will-power for him. Hermione cried herself out and when he realized she was out like a light, he put her to bed. It was the decent thing to do. The witch needed her sleep, but Severus was certain he'd catch all sorts of unholy hell for it.

With his wife soundly asleep, her wand was left completely unattended, Severus found himself staring at it intently. He wasn't supposed to touch it. He didn't even know if it'd work for him. Or if the wards would go off if he attempted to use it, but his fingers itched. It had been so long As since he'd felt magic thrum through his body.

The temptation proved too great.

As Severus picked up her discarded wand he easily felt connected to the wand. It didn't  
channel power as his own wand so easily did, but it was there. With a hoarse voice Severus Snape quietly intoned his first real spell in years, _"Lumos."_

By wandlight he read. And read. Severus soaked up as much as he could as he sifted through product reports, market analyses, research updates, and proposals.

He just couldn't help himself. The temptation again proved too great. Taking the self-inking quill up in his hand Severus furiously began the task of marking parchment as if grading a third year's potions essay. And by the gods it felt good.

He learned quite a bit about Granger Industries and was heartily impressed, but going through her satchel yielded other shockers. He was already quite aware that a man could tell a lot about a woman just by what she carried in her purse, and Severus was thoroughly unsurprised to find all sorts of womanly trinkets, filing cabinets, journals, 'emergency' whatnots, and… a tent? The bottom of her satchel, if it truly were the bottom, Severus wasn't quite convinced, was littered with no less than 200 tatty, frayed, broken-nibbed, and split shafted quills, gum wrappers, and assorted loose coinage.

What had him most dumbfounded though was a small black case containing medical supplies. Apparently Hermione kept a First Aid kit worthy of an entire paramedics team on her at all times. Again, interesting, but not noteworthy given how paranoid the girl tended to be. No, what caught his immediate attention were her prescription potions. She carried enough potions to stock Poppy for a term. The case contained: Migraine-Be-Gone, Fem-all Pain reliever, Heartburn and Indigestion suppressants, and Anti-depressants.

Lots of Anti-depressants.

By the looks of it, _Non Solum Noctus_, or commonly known by the street name 'Liquid Sunshine' for the physiological effect it had on the imbiber.

Severus pulled a tiny bottle of the whisky colored brew from the case and it immediately resized itself to fit in the palm of his hand. Pulling the stopper Severus took a good whiff and coughed. He had to spare a glance towards the soundly sleeping witch curled up in bed to make sure she didn't stir. No, Hermione was out.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. He wasn't entirely sure who was brewing her anti-depressants, but she was certainly paying him some serious galleons for them given their potency. It was enough happy juice to make a Dementor produce it's own patronus.

No wonder the witch was unconcerned about her sex drive; it was non-existent. As far as he was aware, (and unless there had been some major breakthrough in potions research in the last five years - which he highly doubted), no Potions Master had been able to perfect an anti-depressant that didn't inhibit sexual desire.

Pleasure, happiness, and the brain's synaptic responses to both were a tight closely bundled knot. Messing with one area caused a sympathetic or overcompensation from another. And as amazing as the brain was, it often had a difficult time of keeping confusing nervous system messages straight. Hence he reflected with a wry grin, the juxtaposition between a little bit of pain thrown in with pleasure heightened a sexual act.

But not for Hermione. She was of course, as previously stated in their contract negotiations a frigid bitch.

'Oh well,' he resigned himself, 'it's not like I could have her anyway.'

Instead of waking up with a jerk to the sound of her blaring alarm clock Hermione snuggled deeper into her soft duvet. She was holding on to the wonderful sensation of being just on the cusp of sleep and awareness. Any minute now her alarm or chirping blackberry would break her peace, but she was bound and determined to enjoy the warm comfy feeling as long as it lasted.

There was a slightly odd feeling nudging her at the back of her brain, registering that something was wrong, but Hermione mentally shooed it away. The sheets were so soft and smelled slightly of herbal soap that she couldn't help but to want to wrap herself deeper in them and shut the rest of the world out.

When her eyelids finally relinquished their evening duties Hermione gasped to notice how bright the light hit her eyes. She always woke before the sun was up. The second thing she noticed was her sheets were a honey taupe. That was funny… her bedclothes were pale blue.

Hermione bolted upright in bed.

_"You!"_ she screeched.

Severus peered over the top of a folder to acknowledge the witch was finally up. "Yes, and hello to you too," he said easily.

"You let me… Oh I can't believe you… you… you… evil man. What were you thinking? Wait!" Hermione held up her hand, "What time is it?"

Severus only shrugged; it was sometime after breakfast and before lunch. Though by the slight whine of his stomach lunch should be coming around fairly soon. "You're the one with the wristwatch Hermione."

Of course. After a quick glance at her watch Hermione jumped out of bed. "How dare you let me sleep til noon!" she raged. "Do you have any idea how important today is? You can't possibly know how much you've ruined my day. What were you thinking letting me sleep here?"

Again Severus shrugged his shoulders. If only because it infuriated her. "Don't get snippy with me Madam, I was the one forced to surrender my cot to you. You could at least give me the common courtesy of thanking me for it. You were certainly in no shape to apparate last night, and I'd say the sleep has done you a world of good."

"Good? Good? What the hell would you know what's good for me? I've missed half the day you moron. This will set me back weeks! Weeks!"

Hermione made a grab for the piles of parchment and notebooks Severus had laid on the floor, hastily shoving them in her satchel.

Calmly Severus replied, "You've only missed the daily planning meeting and production conference call, though I'm not exactly certain what a conference call is."

"And that's another thing!" she hissed, parchment clutched in her fist. "You had no right. No right! To go through my stuff. Just where the hell do you get off reading my intellectual property? These are trade secrets. I could sue you for this!"

Severus shrugged again, enjoying the way her eyes narrowed each time he did. "Go ahead, take me to court. You've already got my house. What else can you do to me? Extend my life sentence?"

* * *

A/N:  
Non Solum Noctus – Not by night alone  
Chapter Title: Fides Punica - Treachery


	14. Chapter 14

****

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 14 – Lege Et Lacrima **

"Then what happened?" Ginny asked her eyes wide and shining.

"I told him to go fuck himself. I might have used some choice words about his mother and disparaged his paternity. But you know what sucked? I only thought of a whole host of better insults to use right after I walked out. But what could I do? I'd look like an idiot if I barged back in."

"Ugh, I hate when that happens."

"It's just damn skippy he's never called me a mudblood. On Doctor Allport's Prejudice Scale _'anti-locution'_ is the first step towards _'extermination.'_ Of course, had he called me that I'd have skipped straight to _'physical attack,'_ and I'm just not quite sure what that says about me."

"I think it means you won't put up with any bull crap," Ginny asserted prompting both girls to display predatory Gryffindor grins.

"I'll go all muggle on his ass," Hermione teased. "He won't know what hit him."

"He might like that you know. He's probably got a S&M streak a mile wide," Ginny said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Hermione set down her wine glass, "I really don't want to talk about him anymore."

Ginny nodded understanding perfectly.

"So tell me about your date. Charles was it?"

"Thomas. Charles was two weeks ago." Ginny was getting accustomed to only having half of her friend's attention. It used to bother her, but the only way Ginny could see Hermione was to come over the flat with a bottle of wine while she worked on payroll. She could either settle for half her attention or lose Hermione entirely. Hermione of course firmly maintained she was always accessible. Ginny only needed to send her an email or get a Facebook account.

"Uh-huh," Hermione prompted while leafing through ledgers. "What was the problem this time?"

"Gay. Or at least that's what he said."

"You think he was lying to you?" Hermione looked up incredulously. What had Ginny done to scare this one off?

"I don't know," Ginny tapped her finger thoughtfully against her lips, "but it seemed really suspicious. He announced it out of the blue right after I told him how many children I wanted."

"No Gin, you didn't! On a first date? You're lucky he didn't run screaming from the table."

"Yeah, he looked like he might bail too. But to be fair he did ask me how many I wanted. I couldn't lie. I mean what if we ended up dating, falling in love, and getting married? That would be so wrong. What would I do, tell him at the altar to add a one in front of the number I gave him?"

"You could have misdirected him, put off answering the question."

"Mione, you know that doesn't work. Once my dates connect my red hair and last name that's the first thing they ask. As a matter of fact, it's usually more like an interrogation."

"Well maybe this archaic law with all its 'production incentives' will actually work in your favor. It's got to benefit somebody." Hermione tried to sound encouraging, but she couldn't help but tipping her words with a hint of sarcasm. The law was still a sore issue with her.

"Yeah maybe," Ginny answered softly. "But all the decent wizards are already taken. I'm beginning to believe that Mr. Right is shacking up with Prince Charming, and I'm left to sort through the scraps. You know what? I don't want to dwell on this. Let's go out Hermione. I don't want to sit here wallowing in my sorrows, let's just go somewhere. I know it's a weeknight, but I'm sure we can find a party somewhere."

Hermione dropped her quill, "I can't do that Gin. I'm sorry, I've got all this to do." She spread her arms out wide to encompass the haphazard stacks of folders that had taken over the kitchen table.

"Just for tonight. Come on we never do anything anymore. When was the last time you went out dancing? Pleeease!"

She shook her head. "You go on without me."

Ginny narrowed her eyes, "I'm not taking no for an answer. You need this just as much as I do. More so probably."

"Look Gin, that sounds nice and all, and I'd really like to go out with you. Honest. But if I don't get these drafts in to the bank on time people aren't going to get paid this week. You understand? I'm not going to ruin all these people's lives just because you have an idea to go dancing."

"So get a bloody accountant!"

"No way."

"Why not? My brothers have one, and don't have to deal with this crap. In fact they have a whole lot bigger staff to handle half the work that you take on and they actually have the opportunity to enjoy their success."

"No," Hermione said firmly. "I'm not going to entrust the running of my business to wizards who haven't got math skills past primary school education. If they offered rudimentary subjects at Hogwarts I'd consider it, but as they don't - I can't chance it."

"So run your business and get someone to take over the R&D department. You can't run both."

Hermione grabbed a fist full of her hair and tugged. "Yes I can."

"You need help. Mione, you can't do this all by yourself."

"No. What I need is time. I can do this if I just had a moment to concentrate." She rubbed her forehead unknowingly smearing a large ink stain from her fingers all over.

Ginny was silent for a moment as she considered what to do with her best friend. It was in her nature to stalk off upset and pouting, but she couldn't leave her Hermione like this.

"Is there something I can do?" She gestured to the stacks of reports. "Maybe there's something easy you could let me do to help you out."

Hermione looked at her warily. If there was anything that she might be convinced to entrust to Ginny she knew the moment the witch was finished with it, she'd then go back over her work to double check it. But then, giving Ginny something to do might make her feel like she was helping.

"Progress reports. I could let you take a crack at the progress reports."

"Ok," Ginny nodded. "What do I need to do?"

"The progress reports contains a synopsis of every project we are currently working on, the developer also writes about successes, failures, and speculations. It should also contain a detailed description of everything that has happened in the last week. All you would have to do is read it. If there's anything that strikes you as odd, or if you have a suggestion, write it in the notes section. It usually takes me a long time to go over them, but if you're willing to make a start it could help me knock through it sooner. It might be helpful to have a different pair of eyes looking at it. You could bring a fresh perspective."

"Is that all?"

Hermione looked at her in disbelief, obviously Ginny had no idea how invested she was in her progress reports. "Here I'll show you." Hermione pulled a fat dark blue folder off the top of a stack of other fat dark blue folders. She had piles of such weekly folders going back several years all organized in miniaturized file cabinets. Hermione estimated she probably had no less than twelve file cabinets in her satchel which never left her side. Paranoid was putting it mildly.

She flipped open the folder as Ginny stood over her shoulder and thumbed to the first tab.

"That son-of-a-bitch! I'll kill him."

The margins of her pages were covered in thin spiky black handwriting.

"Well, at least it's not red ink," Ginny said sarcastically.

"I'll kill him."

Ginny watched as her friend began to melt down and stepped aside.

"They'll send me to Azkaban, but I'll kill him. Hmm… I won't have to get remarried if I'm in prison… I could kill him and live happily ever after. That's it, I'll kill him tomorrow."

"Hermione?"

"I'll kill him."

"He's probably just trying to help. Maybe you should read his notes; they might be good you know." Ginny looked at her seething friend with genuine concern, Hermione was still muttering _'I'll kill him'_ over and over under her breath.

"Help? He's not trying to help me. The man's trying to ruin me. He probably just did this to throw me off my game."

"Why would he do that?" Ginny asked quietly.

"Why, because he's Snape. He does evil things like that. The man isn't right; nothing he does is because he's nice. He's a Deatheater." Hermione's hands were now shaking.

"I know. I haven't forgotten he betrayed us all. But maybe you should just read what he's written… Hermione?"

Hermione was making a frantic grab for all her recent folders, turning them open and gritting her teeth as she found more and more spiky black handwriting.

* * *

A/N:

Lege Et Lacrima - Read it and weep.

Please do consider leaving a review. I appreciate it. AV


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 15 - Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam**

Long after Ginny had abandoned her to her own personal hell, and a second bottle of wine was consumed, Hermione was lounging on her couch reading as Crookshanks warmed her feet. She wasn't yet ready to admit it. To make the concession that Snape had done an admirable job of, well… doing her job was too much. So instead Hermione took to scrutinizing everything he'd written looking for flaws and even spelling errors.

He had a nasty habit of omitting apostrophes and connecting outrageously long run-on sentences with semicolons. But for a wizard without reference books to fact-check off of he actually had done a decent job. No wait… scratch that… He'd done an adequate job. Marginally good.

Oh who was she kidding? Snape had managed to pick up on exactly the same things she would have and made exactly the same comments and suggestions she would have as well.

What gave her pause, the thing that caused her the most consternation, were his notes regarding Imelda Gibson's project.

Gibson's project was so unique they were charting new waters and there was very little historical data to suggest that anything of the like had ever been attempted before. Hermione had the idea after listening to Harry describe something he had seen in a penseive. She wanted to view it herself to see if there were any details Harry had missed, but the penseive wasn't available.

Most people didn't have access to penseives; they were exceedingly rare and damned unaffordable to the average witch and wizard. Most were so small that they could be viewed by one or two people at a time. One night after watching an old black and white movie on her television Hermione's mind wandered to the old style projectors and a bizarre idea took root. What if it were possible to project memories like a film? At least they would only have to take a three dimensional source and pair it down to two dimensions, which in theory sounded easier than the other way round. Theoretically of course…

Before any type of enchanted projector could be constructed there was first the difficult task of working with the gossamer vapor-like material that memories were made of. Gibson, her potions maven, had jumped on the idea immediately by spouting off ideas of binding the mist with a potion so that it was more stable without degrading the contents.

Her progress had been painfully slow, but the results were promising. And until the lab blew up Hermione had a lot more confidence that they'd have the breakthrough they needed. Lee Jordan was already almost finished with the projector, or at least he was before he left. Now she wasn't so certain the endeavor was even worth it. Imelda's potion was really volatile, too volatile to bring to market and she nearly lost her life in the explosion.

There in the margins next to her progress report in cramped handwriting read:

Potion highly unstable.  
Moonflower essential oil will  
react unfavorably to the combination  
of dittany and copper cauldron.

"But it needs to be in a copper cauldron," she whispered to herself.

Suggest substituting 1 oz tisane  
of pettigrain and 5 crushed billywig  
stingers for moonflower.  
The hair of the Centaur must be freely given.  
Potion will need an additional 3  
clockwise stirs and 1 additional  
counter-clockwise stir on the final  
series of stirs only.  
Final product must resemble the  
viscosity of memories as closely as possible.  
Theory: final potion color will be  
deep violet.  
--HBP

"Oh now what do I do?" Hermione moaned.

This was bad. She reviewed the process in her head several times before coming to the same conclusion she had first arrived at. It would work. Damn him.

What did Snape want? Money? Credit? His name on the patent? Residuals? A stake in her company? She owned Granger Industries 100% outright and had no plans on ever going public. Oh this was bad.

She pulled out her cellular and dialed up Edwards. He was accustomed to getting frantic calls in the middle of the night.

"Jake? I need your help. I'm in big trouble."

"Trouble? What's wrong mama? This isn't about that time I did that thing, cuz you said it wouldn't come back to haunt us, and I just can't…"

"Jake! Stop it. This is no time for you to go all 'oooh shiny' on me. We've got real problems. Snape problems."

"Oh-my-lo! What'd he do? You're alright, in one piece? You don't need me to come over and bring tissues and Carly Simon?"

"No. Never mind all that, I'm taking care of it, but I need you to clear my schedule for Friday."

"Pardon?"

"I need the day."

"I don't understand. I'm confused. You're going to miss work?"

"Yesss," she hissed losing patience. Hermione sighed loudly, "You'll have to reschedule the distributor meeting; and Jake, I don't want to see them any time before next Friday."

"Oooh yikes, they'll have kittens. Anything else I can do sweets?"

Hermione wracked her brain. "Yeah. I need another Snape Care Package. A good one. Go all out again. You seem to know what he likes… Oh, and he'll need a proper bookcase and bed. Nothing too big, but something to replace his nasty cot. You've got that?"

"Absolutely. And while I'm out shopping I can pick up a little something for myself, right?"

"Yes of course. I don't care as long as the Snape box is stellar."

"And that's why I love you my sweet sugar mama."

"Good night Jake."

Her next call was to her lawyer, who was less accustomed to getting calls in the middle of the night, but was still all too familiar with his client's unusual work habits.

Friday morning found Severus Snape in high spirits. It was a 'Hermione Day,' which was always a cause for a bit of celebration. Not only did the little chit provide countless hours of entertainment by being so much fun to provoke, but she brought goodies too.

Although he was expecting her visit, it was still much too early when the morning guard Strathmore called for him to stand for inspection.

"Oh good grief!" Severus groused, "Give me a minute to get presentable."

He knew it. The moment he let the witch into his life she was going to muck with his finely tuned schedule. It was after breakfast and before lunch meaning it was calisthenics time. Having Hermione show up unannounced at such an inopportune moment was infuriating. The witch would pay for this.

Hermione was amused. Little did she suspect when she turned up early at the prison that she'd get a show from her husband through the jailer's slot. She'd interrupted him while he was engrossed in push-ups. Hermione supposed it was because she had only brought him proper robes that he was doing his exercises in nothing more than fitted trousers, but she had to bite back a giggle when she thought that he might always have done his exercises that way. Was it possible in the bowls of Hogwarts the man exercised in three layers of wool? Since Hermione couldn't imagine him in trainers and gym shorts she supposed he did.

When her mind drifted to what he might have worn in Azkaban before she brought him the sets of robes her giggles ceased. That was something she didn't want to even consider.

Severus toweled himself off briefly before snatching up a collared shirt and throwing on his robe. He held out his arms wide open, "See nothing. Not like I need anything to strangle her with."

"Let's see you try it Snape," Hermione retorted as she walked in.

"Madam Granger, missed me so much you couldn't wait until this evening?"

Hermione dropped her satchel with a deafening thud. "I'm here on business Snape."

"Last time I heard those words from you my dear you were proposing marriage. What brings you here this time? Some other harebrained scheme? Perhaps you want to start the honeymoon, Vixen?"

"This," she hissed, pulling out the thick dark blue folder, "is why I'm here."

"Ah, that," he smirked.

"Yes, 'that.' You crossed a line Snape. What the hell gave you the right to go through my stuff?"

"Granger, I believe we've had this conversation before and while I found it highly amusing at the time I'm in no mood to listen to you wail about your insecurities again. I read your files. So what? I made a few comments. So what? I dare say my pearls of wisdom have benefitted you."

"I'm not going to answer that."

"I'll take that to mean they did."

Hermione rubbed furiously at the point between her brows that was starting to scream. "Why Snape?"

"Why not? I was bored. I was curious. And loath as I am to admit it, the work was fascinating."

She took her usual seat on the leather armchair and Severus sat again on the cot though he was really tempted to throw her off of it. It was his chair after all.

"So what now?" Hermione asked. When Severus' face remained completely blank and betrayed not even the slightest flicker of recognition Hermione continued, "What do you want? I'm not giving you any stake in my company if that's what you're thinking."

Severus let out a long rich belly laugh the likes of which Hermione had never been treated to. He laughed without a trace of self-consciousness, as if he didn't care if anybody was listening or judging him. Hermione was momentarily transfixed. Not only had she never really seen the man laugh, or honestly believe that he could, but her laughter was always stifled into nervous giggles and chortles. She was always so embarrassed that someone might be analyzing what she was doing. People watchers always tended to believe others were watching them.

"Fine, I take it that somehow amuses you, but you still haven't answered the question. What do you want?"

As he recovered Severus solemnly said, "I want to be involved."

"Involved? How? I'm willing to put your name on the patent as co-creator, is that involved enough for you?"

"Hardly. I want this," he gestured toward her bulging satchel and she drew it closely to her chest.

"Granger, I am a solitary man. I'm not accustomed to working with anyone or even relying on anyone for anything. And I find myself in a position where I've become dependent upon you of all people much too much for my own liking. It's not as bad as I had feared."

His eyes took stock of his much improved cell. "But a man who has nothing, has want for nothing. And it seems as if as I have more, or at least the trappings of more, I want more. It's not longer enough for me to sit idly by and watch the sun rise and set. I want to be productive again, feel useful in some way. I need to work. Nothing would make me feel more connected to being alive than having a purpose in life."

Stunned by his impassioned speech, Hermione didn't quite know how to respond. After a few seconds she found her voice again. "Well you can't have it. It's my company."

"And don't we all know that Madam. But I believe you're missing my meaning entirely. I have no interest in taking over your job, there's no way I could do it from my cell either. I would however like the opportunity to work on more production reports and market research analyses and whatever else you've got stashed in that bag of yours."

Sensing her apprehension Severus targeted her irritating Gryffindor sentimentality. Their heartstrings were so easy to manipulate

"My body is deteriorating here from disuse, my magic is weakened, my psyche degenerating from the torture of being imprisoned..."

"I didn't put you here Snape. You put yourself here," she interrupted.

"Yes, that's very true and I didn't mean to imply that I don't deserve my punishment. I do. Hermione, please listen to me, don't let my mind atrophy as well. You could use me to your benefit."

"I'm not putting you on payroll"

"I don't want you to."

"You'll have to sign confidentiality and non-disclosure contracts."

"Done."

"And you have to accept that I'm the boss. You will have to answer to me."

"Regarding work? Yes."

This wasn't what Hermione set out to do. Hiring Snape, even unsalaried was not what she planned at all. She was supposed to bribe him, get him to sign over rights to the amended potion and other affidavits.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered under her breath.

Severus looked as if Christmas had come early as he hid his joy behind a veil of long sable hair.

* * *

A/N:

This was going to be two chapters, but that seemed paltry. I hope this satisfies for the moment. Next post Monday.

Chapter title: _Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam_: Either I will find a way or I will make one

_Thank you to all my lovely reviewers. Please consider leaving a review as well, AV_


	16. Chapter 16

****

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 16 - Salsamentum Iuglans**

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of the lunch trolley.

"Grub!" Strathmore hollered as he banged on the door as if the cell's occupants hadn't already heard the squeaky wheeled cart clattering loudly down the stone hallway. A slot at the bottom of Severus' door lifted and a metal tray shoved forcefully in.

"Ah! Lunch is served," Severus announced unnecessarily, "And it appears to be still warm. This is indeed a good day."

Hermione watched in disbelief as Severus chewed on soggy grey peas and something that should have passed for creamed chipped beef on toast, but didn't quite hit the mark. Severus halted mid-bite. "I apologize my dear; I should have offered you something. Terribly rude of me to eat in front of you."

"No, no. You go ahead. That's really all you." She watched him hungrily attack the peas, torn between not wanting to watch the display and being drawn to it like rubbernecking a car accident. "You must be frightfully hungry."

"Missed breakfast," he grunted. "Amend that, skipped breakfast."

"May I enquire why?"

"Too nasty to be considered food."

Hermione mentally chewed on that; in her estimation his lunch was too nasty to be termed edible and wondered what breakfast had looked like. "You know, I believe there's a hamper from Fortnum's somewhere in here…"

Severus stopped shoveling food immediately as Hermione dug through another white box. His dark eyes shimmered as they locked on to the red tissue paper stuffed parcel. He was beginning to feel like he was trapped in some bizarre Pavlovian experiment.

"Ah-ha! Here it is." Hermione pulled the trinket sized wicker basket out of the red paper, set it on the floor, and within seconds it resized itself into a generous hamper. "Ooh, and a picnic blanket too it looks like."

A large red wool blanket soon followed and Severus greedily snatched it up for his bed. He'd spent too many frozen nights to let a thick wool blanket ever grace his floors. Severus would have rather sweated through his sheets than give up an extra blanket.

"Oh, why'd you do that?" she asked. "It might be lovely to pretend to have a real picnic."

"Hermione, I have no intension of disgracing myself by sitting on the floors. We are hardly out in the country and it's not worth the bother to indulge in your insane fantasies. I could never imagine myself being anywhere other than where we are. You would do well not to forget that I'm an evil murdering bastard," he smirked.

"Like I could forget." Even as Hermione said those words she wasn't convinced of them. Oh she knew perfectly well that he was in fact an 'evil murdering bastard,' she'd used those very same choice of words several times, but she did forget. It unnerved Hermione to think that she was comfortable in his presence.

"Pickled walnuts," Severus gasped, momentarily distracted from their conversation.

"Here," she passed the jar to him, "I can't stand them."

"For shame. You don't know what you're missing my dear."

"Well," she said looking doubtfully at a small jar of gooseberry and elderflower preserves, "this won't make a very substantial lunch. Certainly something to nibble on, but we need real food."

Severus' ears perked up. "And what would you consider real food?"

"I don't know… real food. What would you like for lunch? I could go for anything about now. Well, obviously not anything. I wouldn't touch those peas for all the tea in China."

He was dumbfounded. Ignoring the fact that the little chit had just invited herself to his lunch and obviously wasn't going to leave anytime soon, he now had to something deep to ponder. What did he want for food? She asked the question as if anything were possible, as if it were so easy to just pop down to a local restaurant and order take out.

There were nights long ago when Severus had been kept up by his growling stomach. On those nights his head was filled with hungry thoughts of roast lamb, the greasiest fish and chips, his mother's squash casserole, and sometimes even bad teriyaki stir fry or pizza. Was she playing with him, tormenting him for her own amusement? For Hermione's sake she had better not be.

"I… don't know," he answered honestly. "Anything sounds good about now."

"Oh, well!" she exclaimed while jumping up and grabbing her cloak, "I just found this new Lebanese restaurant the other day and have been dying for an excuse to try it. Do you like Mediterranean? I absolutely adore it."

Severus nodded numbly.

"I was thinking a few kabobs, baba ghanoush, some dolmas, couscous… oh and baklava for desert. What kind of meat do you want for your kabobs?"

"Lamb?" he tentatively asked.

"Oh lamb. Yum. I might just have to get a double order… Right, I'll be back in just a bit…" Hermione caught herself before she said, 'don't go anywhere.' "And then we can talk more about work."

As Hermione was let out of his cell Severus sat back in his chair open mouthed. He didn't stir until the sound of her footsteps were heard again along his hallway.

She made her entrance bustling in two plastic bags filled with Styrofoam take-out boxes and a bottle of sweet mint tea.

"I hope you don't mind, I got some for the boys too."

"The boys?"

"Roger, Billy, Chuck… you know, the boys."

"My guards? You brought food for my guards?"

"What? You make it sound like they're responsible for you being here. You can't blame them because Azkaban sucks and they have to eat the food you do. Hang on a tic, they don't beat you do they?"

"No," he said viciously, "but they're not my friends either. And they shouldn't be yours. I take exception that my wife is on first name basis with my jailers."

"Whoa, drop it down a notch, it's not like we go out drinking pints together. And you're hardly in a position to dictate who I speak to either. Besides, I get the distinct impression they're just as miserable as you are."

"That's little comfort."

Hermione ignored his comments, as she set out plates of steaming aromatic food. He ignored her comments as he stared at plates of steaming aromatic food. There was something to be said about witches getting to a wizard's heart through his stomach.

After positively gorging himself on succulent lamb, every bit of couscous he could fit in his mouth (especially the pine nuts), and thoroughly enjoying those grape leaf things she called dolmas, Severus wasn't certain he could stomach baklava. And yet somehow, he managed, he found the strength within.

He watched her suspiciously as she wrapped up the left overs, but sighed in relief as she put a stasis charm on it so he could have it later.

"Now, about these product reports."

And that's how their afternoon began. Severus listened intently as Hermione babbled on and on excitedly about her projects, occasionally interrupting to add his opinion. He signed employee release forms and officially became an unsalaried employee of Granger Industries, LLC.

She trained him on exactly how she wanted things done. Hermione wasn't willing to turn much over to him at once. They were still developing a level of trust between them, something Hermione was hesitant to do, but there were the beginnings of a workable partnership.

There was an awkward moment when they both confessed they needed a bathroom break. Thankfully Hermione was able to slip out into the hallway to use the guard's loo while Severus used his privy in peace. They were learning each other's habits and growing closer, but certainly not that close.

In the midst of a discussion on her distributor troubles Severus' boiled cabbage dinner arrived and it was sent away. Reheated lamb and a fine bottle of cabernet from the hamper was shared. Severus would have preferred to pair the meal with the kind of Bordeaux so heavy on the tannins that it'd pull on the back teeth, but who was he to complain?

The sun sank low into the horizon and when Hermione reached for her wand to utter an illuminating spell she quickly realized how inappropriate it was for their bodies to huddle so close together to read from her spreadsheets.

"You know, this is way too much for one person to absorb in an evening. I should go." As her eyes lifted from their shared folder, she met his indecipherable gaze and felt a curious throb in her upper body.

Quirking his brow Severus questioned in a hushed tone, "Can I keep the quality control reports to familiarize myself with them?"

Hermione beamed. "I think we can manage that. See you soon. Good night Severus."

"Good night Hermione."

The door hadn't completely closed before Severus felt shut in and alone once more.

His father had taken to locking him away because children should neither be seen nor heard. The closet beneath the stairs had been just as much his home as it had been for Potter.

In adulthood he took to shutting himself away. He buried himself in his dungeons. Though he was never really alone. Being surrounded by hundreds of pre-pubescent and hormonal teenagers meant never having any real time to one 's self, but damned if he didn't try. He had to growl and grumble constantly just to get a moment's peace, and there were times, especially around end of year exams when he'd wished for the solitude of Azkaban prison.

It was as if his life was supposed to be spent imprisoned. Living in solitude and feeling estranged was nothing new to him, but he had never felt it so acutely until after Hermione left him. And she always left him feeling like he was just on the threshold of collapse, as if he couldn't take her brief presence, even when he hungered for it.

He was obviously a man desperate for comfort, clinging to companionship, and drawn to the woman who offered him both.

He would have felt the same for any other woman who visited him and brought him pickled walnuts.

Yes, that had to be it.

That still didn't stop him from missing Hermione when she was gone.

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A/N:  
I apologize for Monday's update arriving late on Tuesday. I was incapacitated by a horrible Dark Arts Curse. I was hit by _Evil Migraine of Death_ and it left me utterly undone. I'm feeling much better now.

Chapter title: _Salsamentum Iuglans_- Pickled Walnuts

At least I think it's pickled walnuts, I didn't have the marvelous Rini double check my bastardized Latin.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 17 - Age. Fac Ut Gaudeam**

"Misses Granger!" Hermione's floo lit up with green incandescent flames, "Misses Granger, are you home?"

Hermione grumbled as she pulled herself out of bed, knocking Crooks off his pillow along the way. "This had better be good," Hermione mumbled, as she rubbed her sleep crusted eyelids. She was bound and determined to sleep as late as she wanted, given that it was a Saturday. Whoever was yelling out of her floo had better have a damn good reason for messing with her plan.

"Billy?"

If asked to give a list of the people she expected to see in her grate at an ungodly hour of the morning, Billy Mulciber wouldn't make the top hundred. He'd hover someplace around the bottom, near a very much alive Albus Dumbledore and Bono. Although Bono did have the most annoying habit of showing up positively everywhere for no real reason at all.

"Ma'am, we need you at the prison right quick."

"Oh gods, is Severus okay?" Internally Hermione was chanting 'please let him be alright.' He was a drain on her time and resources, but he made a decent husband, given that she only had to deal with him when she felt like it. That, and if he did die, she only had a one year grieving period before being forced to take a new husband. A witch had to have her priorities straight.

"He's fine Ma'am, just a bit stuck."

"Stuck?"

"Yes, well, he apparently unpacked quite a few large items from one of your boxes, and there was a large bed and desk and some other furniture involved and now he's trapped in the back corner."

"Well, get him out."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Ma'am."

"What?" she shrieked. "Why not?"

"I can't touch the prisoner unless he's a threat to himself or others. It's part of the new prison reform legislation. We're now supposed to inform his emergency contact or guardian."

"But that's absurd. Surely you could construe it as a threat to his life if he doesn't get out."

"I'm sorry, but I could lose my job. This job means a lot to me Ma'am; I could lose everything if I lost it."

Hermione wasn't going to ask why he sounded a bit desperate to keep his job. Billy wasn't a bad sort. And he didn't strike her as an idiot, either. For a brief moment, Hermione wondered why he ended up at such a place to begin with; it seemed a bit beneath him.

"Alright, alright. Give me a minute and I'll come over."

Bailing out her stupid stupid husband was not what she had in mind for the day. Hermione hadn't even had her coffee yet. She sighed; coffee would be heavenly. She flicked on the pot and pulled out an extra large thermos. Might as well share with the others.

She hadn't taken a single step down his hallway before hearing Severus' smooth voice loudly cursing her name, the day she was born, and - oddly enough - her hair. What was it with people and their obsession with her hair? It was ghastly, but really, why dwell?

"Oh do shut up!" Hermione commanded from right outside his door. The wards dropped, but true enough, she couldn't open the door given the cluster of furniture. Through the jailer's peep slot she could see an arm caught between a massive armoire and a gentleman's bureau, but she couldn't see the rest of him.

Slipping her wand through the slot Hermione quickly reduced the oversized Victorian furniture down to doll house sizes.

"And it's about damned time too, witch!" Severus growled as he rubbed his shoulder.

"You know what - I think I'll just size these back up and leave you to deal with them, if you're going to be like that," Hermione huffed, as she walked in.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you. Is this your idea of some kind of joke?"

"Not at all. How'd this happen anyway?"

"I overturned the contents of your last box on the floor and they all resized themselves at once. As if you couldn't guess that."

"Oh dear."

"Oh dear is right. What the hell were you thinking, bringing a full bedroom suite of furniture here? I barely have space for what I've got now."

"I see that. I really am sorry, but I didn't pack this. I just told Jake to get you a small bed to replace your cot, and a bookshelf. I didn't think he'd take it to the extreme." Well, that wasn't entirely true. Hermione knew she told him to be generous, and he had a habit of taking an idea and running with it.

"Really? Just how many of my care packages have you packed?"

"Er… you had to ask that didn't you. Um… none. I made a list and delegated it to my assistant, Jake Edwards."

"The Hufflepuff? That milk-livered clown!" Severus raged, he looked furious enough to kill, especially sporting stubble and wearing his shirt sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscular arms. "He never could take proper direction. What were you thinking?"

"Well, it worked just fine until now." Hermione tapped her foot lost in thought for a moment. "How 'bout a peace offering? Coffee?"

Coffee.

She said Coffee.

"Coffee would be agreeable," he responded hoarsely, while taking a thick swallow, "As long as you can make a decent cup. Nothing frou-frou."

Hermione nodded, "I grind my own blend of Columbian beans in an Italian roast. Is that decent enough for you?"

Oh, dear gods. Severus stared at her thermos. "It'll do."

"Excellent," she replied rolling her eyes, "So glad to hear you can be so easily appeased."

"Don't start with me, witch. Now hand the coffee over."

Hermione repacked the rest of the tiny furniture except the bed and bookcase while Severus reverently inhaled the steaming brew, clearly enjoying its perfume as if it were a fine wine or Amortentia

If she was going to remake his room, Hermione figured it was best to do it right. She pulled all the furniture into the center of the room, said a spell to even the walls, and added a layer of white color to them. Magically speaking, it wasn't quite the same as painting the room, but in the end the effect was still the same.

"Do you mind?" he enquired. "If you leave me with institutional white walls, I think I'll be climbing them within days."

"And I won't step foot in here again if you want them black."

Severus chuckled. "Typical. I suppose that's what all you Gryffindors think of me. Morbid and morose."

"Ha! That's exactly what I think of you. So tell me then Mister Snape, which color would you choose then?"

He frowned, thinking less about his color choices and more about the way Hermione perceived him. "Perhaps a neutral color, something beige?"

Hermione concentrated on beige and added it to the walls.

"Less taupe, more tawny," Severus instructed.

Hermione amended the color.

"Brighter, but not so brownish," he insisted.

Again Hermione amended the color.

"Richer," he demanded. Once she'd adjusted the color Severus was satisfied. "Perfect."

"You could have just told me you wanted gold from the get-go, Snape."

"Oh what, and spoil the surprise?" He'd had enough of her for the moment, especially when the hot beverage practically screamed for his attention. "It seems the appropriate color for a gilded cage," he mumbled.

He was so preoccupied with sipping from his first cup Severus barely registered when Hermione stripped off his bedclothes, evanesco'd his cot, and resized the elegantly carved sleigh bed into the space. The bookshelf was expanded to fit against the adjacent wall. It was a snug fit, but they were bound to bang elbows anyway.

The bed was remade with a change of fresh linens; Hermione left the red picnic blanket folded at the foot of the bed rather than argue with him. (That, and it was secretly satisfying to have a bit of Gryffindor colors in the room of the world's most consummate Slytherin.) He seemed to growl like a possessive dog after a bone when she touched 'his stuff.' A neat orderly row of white boxes filled the bottom shelf of his book case, and on the whole, the room seemed a bit cozy.

It was at that moment that Severus' breakfast arrived. Hermione was then fully aware as to why Severus did not bother to classify the breakfasts served at the prison as edible. She supposed it was meant at one time or another to be porridge, but in her estimation it resembled papier-mâché glue. It was served with half a rotten orange.

Severus looked up at her expectantly.

"Please tell me you didn't do this to me this morning just to get me to fetch you breakfast."

"No, but that is a rather interesting idea. So Hermione, would you like to join me for breakfast?"

Now there was a loaded question.

She was under no contractual obligation to stay with the wizard, nor was she there on business. Hermione really didn't have a valid excuse for staying. If she brought him food, would it be because she felt sorry for him, or because she wanted his company?

Did she?

The pair locked eyes, and he seemed to understand her dilemma perfectly. Severus silently challenged her, mocking her to stay with him.

"Fine, I'll get us some breakfast."

"Excellent. Oh and Hermione… we'll need more coffee."

"Yes dear," she replied wryly.

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A/N:

Merry Christmas, Chanukah Sameach, and Happy Holidays Everyone

And YEA, I have commas now! A hearty _thank you_ to Christev20 who beta'd this chapter; I so appreciate it.

Chapter title: _Age. Fac Ut Gaudeam_ - Go ahead. Make my day.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**

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**

**Chapter 18 - Forsan Et Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit **

Hermione wasn't gone long and when she returned, she came bearing breakfast trays. And coffee. The pair lounged quietly on his bed as if it were a giant sofa and taking breakfast in his bed a regular occurrence. She also brought him the paper and they divided it up between themselves as they munched, though Severus stole covert glances of her from behind the economics section.

He was beginning to reappraise her. Severus still wasn't sure if it was because Hermione was the kind of witch who would normally attract his interest or if it was because she was simply there, but regardless, she deserved a second glance.

Naturally, she had an intelligent face and her eyes clearly spoke of absolute conviction in her intelligence, but those eyes were also wide and quite lovely when she had more than a handful of hours of fitful sleep. Severus also hadn't seen many people with as perfect teeth as she had. One look at her gleaming straight teeth and you just knew she flossed every day. Severus snorted to himself; he was appraising her as if she were a horse.

The girl did not resemble a horse in any way shape or form. Oh, she had ample hips which Severus had described as 'mannish' to her face no less, but other wizards might have called them curvy, or sexy. And five galleons said she could crack a brass cauldron between 'em.

No, she wasn't a ravishing beauty like Bellatrix Black had been - all luscious tits and fuckable lips. But then that bitch would steal the straw from her mother's kennel.

Hermione was an earthy pretty. A regular wholesome muggle-next-door pretty. An obtainable pretty. He dismissed his mental wanderings. It was pointless; the chit had not been lying - she was a frigid ice queen. He'd seen Hermione shyly smile at him and nervously ramble on and on like many young witches with low self confidence did. But she was not flirting.

He'd have known if the witch were interested in him and if she were, he'd have pounced long before. It had been a very long time… Severus was forbidden from actually penetrating her, but as he so disturbingly put it before 'there were other ways to fuck.' And for the first time in years he was beginning to think about that again.

When her plate was cleared Hermione politely thanked him for his company, collected their trays, and left. Completely oblivious to where his mind had taken him.

****

Severus was reading over an academic journal when noises in the hallway alerted him to a visitor. It was nearly dinner time, but the footsteps in the hallway weren't accompanied by the squeaky-wheeled meal trolley.

This time Mulciber kindly requested the prisoner to present himself for inspection. Well, that was a new development; maybe the chit's influence on them did have some positive effect on him.

"Twice in one day? Just can't keep away, can you?" he asked with an amused grin.

As the door swung open Hermione smiled brightly, "Eh, I had a taste for pizza…" What else could she say? Hermione certainly couldn't confess to being a little starved for company.

As Severus greedily inspected the boxes of deep dish cheese and inhaled hand tossed pepperoni, Hermione pulled a case of Belgium white from her satchel and resized it, gaining his attention immediately.

"I brought you a case of bitter," she said sheepishly, "you strike me as the bitter type… But the boys snatched it up."

_"The boys?"_ Severus' fists clenched. "_The boys_ have my bitter."

"Try the Hoegaarten; it's very good."

"The boys have my bitter."

"Beer and pizza go together," she made a face, "but bitter and pizza. Yuck. I think I just did you a favor."

Severus glared at her with an intimidating stare, one she knew very well and expected to hear that she had a full month's detention with Filch. "You gave my bitters to my jailers!"

Hermione blanched, "Fine… fine… I'll go get another case. See if I ever do anything nice for you again."

As she stalked out of his cell Severus smirked. He still had it, and he didn't have to threaten her. And a good thing too, if Hermione hadn't relented he might have found his fingers closing inadvertently around her neck. Severus gave the Belgian beer a scornful sneer.

Hermione wasn't gone long, and returned as promised with a case of Boddys and a glare, which didn't faze him a bit.

After cracking open the beers and fixing plates of gooey pizza, Severus claimed his arm chair and Hermione sat Indian style on the floor, her back leaning against his new bed. The pizza hit the spot, as did the beer, and Hermione felt utterly content.

Severus closely watched her unwind and popped another beer for her.

"Trying to get me drunk, Severus?"

"You get drunk off of two beers?" he arched an eyebrow in silent challenge.

Hermione snorted before eyeing him thoughtfully. It was a fact; the man was thin and scrawny. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in the years he'd been locked away, unless you could count the vino they'd shared. And that had hardly been tying one on. Theoretically, she should have been able to drink the Potions Master under the table. What would that be like? Inquiring minds wanted to know.

She raised her bottle tipping it slightly towards him, "Salute."

Severus gave a lusty laugh, his eyes filled with mirth before returning her gesture. In his mind he was already contemplating what mischief he could get into, and Hermione was always good for a laugh, whether she realized it or not.

When his beer was consumed Hermione kindly cracked open another one for him. It was the polite thing to do.

"So tell me, I've always wanted to know, how's it you always knew exactly when and where to show up when we were getting in trouble?" There had to be ugly icky dark magic involved, nothing else could explain it.

"Vixen, it'll take a lot more beers than this to get that answer out of me."

This time it was Hermione's turn to arch an eyebrow. "Oh come on, don't be such a sour puss." Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, it came a bit more playful than she would have liked. Perhaps she needed to make sure her stomach was full.

"Well then, let's try this. You tell me how you managed to crack into my storeroom and I'll consider answering that."

"Consider? Not good enough." Hermione grabbed another slice of cheese. "But if it's tit for tat you want, I'm not adverse to the idea. You stir my cauldron, and I'll stir yours. I admit I'm more than a bit curious about some things about you, and trust me when I say I have a lot more interesting stories than the one about breaking into your storeroom. I am, after all, Harry's best friend."

Severus didn't bother to hide a sneer upon hearing Harry's name and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Suddenly Hermione giggled, and waved off Severus' questioning look. How could she explain to him that she was seized by an overwhelming urge to break into Rodgers and Hammerstein's _'Getting to Know You.'_ He wouldn't appreciate the gesture at all, though he would make an excellent King of Siam. Hermione did her best to compose herself back into the kind of expression suitable for hanging out with a Death Eater. Murdering, bastard, traitor, fucking Death Eater, with a bit of cheese stuck to the corner of his mouth.

"Why'd you have to go and get Lupin fired? Please tell me it wasn't petty schoolboy grievances. He was the best Defense teacher we had."

"No, _I_ was the best Defense teacher you had. And I didn't have anything against Lupin personally, other than the fact that he's tried several times to eat me. His presence put the entire school population in jeopardy, as you'll no doubt remember the time he tried to rip you into small bite-sized pieces. Don't bother trying to defend him, you know it's true."

"It still seems pretty damn petty to me."

"Hermione, it would only take one instance of a child getting injured before the Ministry would sweep in, and you know they wouldn't have hesitated to put him down like an animal."

"Well you needn't worry about him any longer. He's dead."

Hermione expected a scathing retort, something along the lines of 'good riddance,' but she was thrown completely off track by the look of honest remorse that flitted briefly across his features and slumped shoulders.

"Albus still had no business inviting him into the school."

Hermione snorted loudly. "Five out of seven of my DADA professors were Death Eaters; none of them had any business teaching at the school. Geez, you'd figure with the entire Order to draw from, the Headmaster could have found better candidates."

Severus shook his head, his dark hair concealing his face. He was in no mood to disparage Albus. "Few of the Order would have it… Five out of seven? I'm sorry, I didn't really think of it that way."

"Yeah, it's surprising we learned anything useful at all. First was Quirrel, and though not technically branded by the Dark Mark, I'd say being the vessel for Voldemort's return qualifies him for Death Eater status. Then I had Lockhart and Lupin. Lockhart didn't teach us anything at all and as much as I loved Professor Lupin… he was absent for so many classes. Fourth year I had Barty Crouch masquerading as Mad Eye, Death Eater. Then Umbridge…"

"Who wasn't a Death Eater," he interrupted.

"Yes she was. Umbridge was in his pocket. Came out at trial about a year ago. Not that anybody was surprised. Then you taught us."

"And did a damn fine job. Somebody had to make sure you actually learned something."

Hermione nodded, "That you did, but it doesn't negate the fact that you're a Death Eater. Then Professor Carrow had the class."

"Which you never attended. Tell me... what were your N.E.W.T scores? I always wondered if you would beat mine."

"Never took them," she sighed. Noticing his shocked face Hermione added, "They just didn't seem as important after all that had happened, and by the time the Ministry was ready to start testing again I had launched my first product line. I've been too busy ever since."

"Regret it?" If someone had told Severus Snape that Hermione Granger took a pass on her N.E.W.T.s, he'd have told them to pull the other one. There was no comprehensible way that could have happened.

Hermione shrugged and took a long swig of beer. Severus averted his eyes quickly; he was unable to watch her suck from the bottle and not react. "I have so many regrets, my N.E.W.T. scores hardly rank. But this is depressing and I don't want to talk about it any longer. That, and it's my turn to ask the questions."

Severus merely nodded for her to continue; it was good sportsmanship and all that. Despite the drink in hand his throat was dry… and his balls achingly heavy. He took a fortifying slug.

"So Snape… during my years at Hogwarts did you ever have a girlfriend?"

He spat his bitter. "Are you honestly asking if I ever got laid?"

"Yeah, because Ron always figured…"

"I know what Mr. Weasley figured." He tried to sop up the spilled drink from his robes whilst giving Hermione his best glare. She seemed quite underwhelmed by it. "As a matter of fact I did. I dated a lovely witch in Hogsmeade between your second and fourth years… why Hermione, with your mouth gaping open like that one might get the impression you were giving out free blowjobs tonight. How charitable indeed."

"Fuck you."

"Not precisely the comeback I was expecting, but if you're offering that as well…"

Hermione's stony glare could have given Snape in his heyday a serious run for his money. "What couldn't keep her after my fourth year," she pretended to count on her fingers, "Don't tell me you were slumming it with an ill-bred witch? A Death Eater with a tainted girlfriend, what gossip! Whatever did the other purebloods think?" she said with as much icy malice as she could muster.

If her comment cut to the core as it was meant to, Severus didn't take notice. "As if I'd bring any witch I cared about to the Dark Lord's attentions. Really, what kind of monster do you take me for? And if you're really so goddamned curious as I suspect you are, Kathleen happened to be a half blood like myself. And she was a very talented belly dancer, used to do the most incredible things in bed. She would roll and contract her stomach muscles while I was in her. I swear I've never had a tighter pussy in my life."

"Stop!" Hermione interrupted, holding up her hand. "I don't want to hear it."

"Why, Madam Granger, you're positively blushing. Please don't tell me you're embarrassed to hear your husband talk about another woman. Or perhaps you're jealous?" he asked with a quirked smile.

"Just spare me, Snape. I'd really prefer not to think of you as a sexual being at all, if you don't mind."

"And yet you asked the question. What am I to make of that, hmm?"

"It was a mistake. I know that now." Hermione cradled her head in her hands, trying to disappear into her palms instead of meeting his gaze.

"Fine. You stole from my lockers; you brewed a potion that was way above your year and skill level. Cocked it all up by using feline hair of all things," if Hermione had bothered to look up she would have seen pure amusement dancing in his dark eyes, "Why? What was so important that you risked expulsion?"

"Harry and Ron polyjuiced themselves to be Crabbe and Goyle to interview Malfoy about him being the heir to Slytherin. I was supposed to be Bulstrode, but other than the hair sample the potion was perfect. It was obviously not above my skill level," she replied with more than a hint of indignation in her voice. She lifted her eyes to the sound of Severus chuckling.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he continued laughing.

"And why's that?"

"If you'd bothered to do your research, my dear, you'd know that the Malfoy line doesn't date back to Slytherin's time. The long and illustrious pureblooded Malfoy name only goes back a couple of generations at best," he said amongst a fit of more laughter.

"Why do you think they were so obsessed with fantasies of pureblooded superiority and all that other rot? You've never heard of old money versus the nouveau riche? Lucius practically had to spend his entire fortune to buy a Black bride, and he didn't even get the desirable sister. That witch ran off and married a muggle rather than have him."

Hermione groaned. "I spent weeks humiliated as a half-mutated cat. I had hair… everywhere."

"Oh, it gets better than that," Severus said gasping for breath.

"I don't know if I want to hear this," she said softly.

"Tell me, what did you think of the boomslang skin you pilfered?"

Hermione made a face wondering where he was going with the question. "It was fresh… Intact… And from what I can remember it was fairly good quality."

"Well, I know for a fact it was excellent quality, but then I always have a ready supply of boomslang skin."

She groaned, not willing to hear what was coming next and yet somehow instinctively, she knew.

"You wanted to know how I could silently creep along the corridors, how I was always aware of where students were and could suddenly appear right behind them? Oh sweet Vixen, I am an Animagus. Now guess what my form is."

"Ugh! That's foul!" She dropped her beer and it sloshed.

Hermione began to dry heave as if the polyjuice might still be in her system, as if the taste of Snape could still be felt in her mouth. She choked as Severus busted out into new peals of laughter. When it was evident that Hermione couldn't stop choking, he rushed over to her and rubbed her back.

"Are you alright?" He asked with tears of laughter in his eyes, but Severus was completely serious.

"I'll be fine," Hermione gasped. "I just… ugh… I need a moment."

Hermione tried to calm her head and stomach by thinking about other things. After a regaining her breath she asked shakily, "Then what keeps you here? I bet you could slip out of this cell and all of Azkaban without much trouble?"

"I keep myself here, Madam Granger," he replied with deadly calm.

It was true; there were many times Severus contemplated simply leaving. Hermione also had an atrocious habit of absently leaving her wand laying within his reach. If he dared, pinching it from the witch would make his escape a simple affair, but it didn't change the fact that he knew deep within his foundation that he deserved to be locked away.

"And this morning? You weren't trapped at all! You could have slipped between the furniture and yet you didn't. You wanted me to get called! You used me, you made me somehow feel guilty and bring you breakfast!"

"Stop being so melodramatic. Didn't you see my shoulder was pinned? I couldn't have transformed if I wanted to."

She sighed loudly and heaved herself up until standing. "I don't think I can handle any more honesty, and I don't know if there's anything more about you I want to know," Hermione shuddered. "I think it would be wise if I left."

Hermione collected her satchel and put a warming stasis on the pizza boxes to keep them fresh for Severus, in case he wanted pizza for breakfast. He didn't look like the 'pizza for breakfast' type, but then she realized she didn't know him very well either. That, and Hermione now knew for a fact that breakfasts at Azkaban were rank.

As she was making a swift exit Severus called out to her. "Hermione, wait," she turned at the note of soft pleading in his voice. "You never asked about the Headmaster. Why didn't you?"

She gave him a small smile of understanding. "It's not my place to pry."

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A/N:

Chapter title: Forsan Et Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit : Perhaps someday we will look back upon these things with joy

Immesurable thanks to my lovely beta Christev20 who worked on this during her vacation!

Please be kind and leave a review, AV


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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A/N: Many people had problems following the last chapter, so I'll take a moment to follow-up. SS is an Animagus, his form is a boomslang, which is a snake. Shredded boomslang skin is the ingredient that HG stole from him to make her polyjuice potion. It was implied, but not stated. Sorry for any confusion.

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**Chapter 19 - Culpam Poena Premit Comes**

It didn't take long before a comfortable routine emerged, much to Hermione's chagrin and Severus' satisfaction. It was just easier to round out the work day by grabbing some take-away dinner and meeting Severus for a bit of quiet time and companionship. Of all the nasty adjectives its many detractors could use to describe Azkaban prison, it was nevertheless very peaceful and quite suitable for Hermione's purposes. She could freely converse about her many projects and ideas without the constant nagging paranoia of lurking corporate spies.

Predictably, her conversations with Severus were also very productive. In addition to helping her organize, arrange, and complete her work he was quite adept at bouncing ideas back and forth on all manner of topics, which was a godsend. Very few witches and wizards were qualified to discuss interdisciplinary ideas, which was the very heart of her company. Hermione wasn't willing to entertain the thought that he was her business partner in any way, shape or form, but gradually she began to allow herself to lean on him for support, and discovered she was quite happy doing so.

Slowly Hermione began to unwind. Spending her evenings with Severus meant the two of them could complete her mountains of paperwork and she could relax and de-stress just a bit. It was somewhat counter-intuitive that she would have more free time by spending her evenings locked away in prison, but Hermione discovered she suddenly had the extra time she needed to do such necessary tasks as interview potential new staff members, scout out larger warehouses for their proposed expansion, and take advantage of the occasional extra hour of sleep.

Under the guise of taking care of Severus' needs, Hermione found herself eating regularly and taking better care of herself. Gone were the days of coffee and pop-tart lunches. Not that take-away meals with Severus every night was that good for her waistline either. And though she'd never admit it to any of her friends, spending time with Severus was honestly easy.

She just had trouble reconciling Severus with Snape.

Snape was a murdering Death Eater who betrayed them all. Snape was cruel and tormented brave Gryffindors and helpless Hufflepuffs because he could and because he enjoyed the suffering of others. Snape was the traitor who deceived the Order and Dumbledore, who took their secrets to Lord Voldemort, who assassinated their beloved leader, and who stood alongside the forces of evil during the final battle. Snape was a liability. His reputation alone put her good name and the standing of her company at risk.

For Hermione the trade-off had been worth it. When Hermione instigated her far fetched scheme to pull the wool over the Ministry's eyes, Snape had been a good option. She could have cared less if he were miserable. Or at least that's what she'd told herself when she proposed marriage.

Now that they were legally wed everything had changed considerably. There was depth to the man. She just couldn't think of him in terms of labels and stereotypes anymore; he simply wasn't as two dimensional as the Professor she once thought she knew. To Hermione he'd become Severus.

Severus was the man who brilliantly suggested experimenting with niffler essence for her Natural Scentsations atomizer. Severus had a rich laugh, and occasionally when he smiled broadly she caught a glimpse of a dimple, which was obviously why he almost never smiled. Severus taunted and teased her mercilessly; he pushed all her buttons and made her want to throttle him, until she realized he was just trying to get a rise out of her and meant no real malice. It was also difficult not to like Severus, though she could hardly call him a bloomin' ray of sunshine.

He was still a liability.

That realization was brought home when he dropped the small confession that he was an Animagus. Hermione silently kicked herself wondering what else she didn't know about the wizard. Though it was obvious that she couldn't just walk up to him and in her most Dumbledorian voice ask, 'Is there something you'd like to tell me?'

She'd done her research on him before approaching him. She'd sifted through court records and school records. There was no other way of doing a 'risk assessment plan' without a bit of digging, but then this was another bombshell she wasn't prepared for. Obviously Hermione needed to do more research. Neither she nor her company could afford to be linked to more scandal than that to which she had already exposed herself.

The problem lay entirely with the Ministry. Not that it was surprising.

If someone wanted to pull public records they had to visit each section and subsection to gather bits and pieces instead of being able to access one collective database. Hermione speculated that this had to do with the fact that each and every section and subsection charged a processing fee for their assistance.

When doing her original research, Hermione visited the Home Registry Bureau and discovered that Snape owned only Spinner's End. She'd also visited the Patent Office and discovered that Snape did not have any original potions credited to his name. When he casually corrected her on both of these topics in their marriage contract negotiations Hermione didn't get too worked up over the issue, but resolved to research it further at another time.

This Animagus business was another matter entirely. Truthfully, Hermione hadn't bothered going to the tiny Personal Transmutations Office to see if he were registered as an Animagus; it seemed like a waste of time and galleons. Now she was rethinking everything. There were now too many unknown elements in the equation.

Two weeks before the Yule holiday Hermione finally found the time to return to the Ministry in an attempt to learn more about the enigmatic man she found herself very fond of despite the protestations of her conscience.

Hermione was so fearful about what she might discover that her head was near exploding when she arrived at the dingy sub-basement office that dealt with registering Animagus forms. She just had to know if he'd ever bothered to register himself, not that she believed he did. But if he hadn't and somehow he was caught, that could be a scandal for her. The press would get involved. Sales would drop. People would throw out her products and swear never to buy them again. She'd be disgraced and would end her days shut up in some old house alone, unloved and unwanted.

Hermione knew she was being just a tad bit melodramatic, and was perhaps exaggerating, but it was possible, wasn't it? What else was he hiding? Was there anything worse than being a Death Eater, and the murderer of this century's greatest and most beloved wizard? She just had to know, she just couldn't deal with any more surprises.

A short wheezy wizard with a bad comb-over met her at the counter, blandly asking her to identify her Animagus form.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not here to register; I'm not an Animagus," the clerk gave her a skeptical look. "I'd like to make a public records request."

"Three galleons," he deadpanned.

Hermione fished for her coin purse and gave the clerk Severus' name. A few moments later Hermione was indeed holding a copy of Severus' Animagus registration form. By the date stamp, he'd received it while still attending Hogwarts. Minerva McGonagall's signature was also on the card as his sponsor. Well, that explained how he was registered. She smiled as she envisioned Professor McGonagall dragging a young Severus Snape down to the registration office by his ear.

She studied the small green card. It recorded his serpent form _Dispholidus typus_, male, bright green in color with black striated markings, gold eyes, oviparous, highly potent haemotoxic venom. All this Hermione expected, but a part of the card also contained a line for known aliases. There in cramped structured handwriting were the words 'Half Blood Prince.'

Of course. She could have slapped herself. He'd signed his correction to Imelda's potion as –HBP. Apparently Hermione wasn't the only one who thought that the Snape name was a liability.

It took her a goodly chunk out of her afternoon, but Hermione revisited Ministry sections and sub-sections performing a public records request on the name 'Half Blood Prince.' She walked away with quite a stack of little green cards. The name had been officially registered as a legal alias, and the wizard was entitled to sign documents using it as his legal name. He was even entitled to a Gringotts account under the moniker.

It infuriated Hermione to no end that he'd been so secretive with her, but then she never directly asked him, 'By the way, do you conduct your affairs under an assumed name?' and he was secretive enough not to say a word unless directly asked. Even then he would probably avoid answering. There was also no telling what he'd concealed under non-legal aliases. The information on the little green index cards was fascinating, but certainly not damning to her reputation. Hermione knew she needed to dig deeper.

The opportunity came quite unexpectedly as she was going through Azkaban security early one evening. Laden with pirogues, borekas, and assorted pelmenies Hermione was about to have Russian night with Severus and the boys, when she ran into Mr. A. Ffoulkes, who was just then leaving his cell.

"Mister Ffoulkes, what a surprise!"

"Good evening Madam," he bowed courteously.

Hermione was about to let him slip by when she seized upon the idea to interrogate him, or at least make pleasant conversation in the hopes of learning a secret or two about her husband. "If it's not too much trouble, might I have a word, please?"

"For you? Anything, Madam Granger."

Hermione might have cackled and rubbed her hands greedily if it weren't so unseemly. Instead she pulled him hastily by the elbow into the small anteroom where the marriage ceremony had been conducted only a few short months before.

"Now, how may I be of assistance, my dear?" he enquired politely.

"Have you always been my husband's solicitor?" she asked innocently.

"For the better part of two decades, I'd say. I made Severus' acquaintance while working for Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Hmm…" Hermione paused thoughtfully, "I was curious… I assume you arranged our marriage contract."

"Yes Ma'am, I did. Is there a problem with the stipulations?"

"No, not as of yet. I wonder, though... do you draw up all his contracts? Have you taken care of his potions patents and other legal business?"

He nodded his assent.

"It wouldn't be possible for me to take a look at them, would it?" she fished. "In the interest of our now joined estates."

Mr. Ffoulkes gave her a generous smile which did nothing to improve the clipped professional tone of his voice. "Madam Granger, any such request would have to come from your husband himself. I'm not at liberty to discuss his private affairs, even with his wife."

"And if I hired you?" Hermione asked sweetly, knowing full well she was treading on thin ice.

"Perhaps I could be of some assistance to you then, but certainly not by infringing upon your husband's confidentiality. I suggest that you dig elsewhere."

Hermione offered him a wide smile that hopefully bespoke 'who me?' "Well, I won't take any more of your time, Mr. Ffoulkes. Perhaps I'll just have to make an appointment to see you in your office."

He inclined his head and shook her hand, apparently unsurprised by the entire line of questioning.

As Hermione turned to exit the antechamber Mr. Ffoulkes placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

"Madam Granger, if you are interested in hiring me for my services, you should know I am quite selective in my clientele. I'm a man of reputation and I only accept clients of equal standing…"

Hermione scowled, biting back the words, 'And yet you represent _him,'_ but the opportunity never came.

"And I only represent the innocent. If there's nothing else, I bid you good evening."

He held the door open for her but Hermione wasn't quite certain she could move her legs.

"What do you mean by that?" she hissed as soon as she could find her voice.

Mr. Ffoulkes just blinked at her in apparent confusion. "I only represent innocent clients, Madam; I think that should be quite obvious."

"Innocent?"

He frowned at her as if she were a small child whining for sweeties. "Yes, innocent. Now is there anything else you wish to discuss with me? I am late getting back."

"No…" her voice sounded small and uncertain to her ears and Hermione still had not budged an inch. "Thank you for your time, Sir," she mumbled.

Mr. A. Ffoulkes left her standing there in the small room staring intently at the floor, her world gone quite topsy-turvy.

Russian food had somehow lost its appeal. All food had lost its appeal.

Hermione left her bags with the boys and apparated to her flat where she quickly found her couch and Crooks, and curled up with both.

By morning she knew there was one last place she had to visit to uncover all she could about the man she'd married. Hermione had no idea if the wizard would deign to speak with her. As his life's work had finally reached completion, he had become uncharacteristically quiet. But she had to try.

Her missive to Minerva was returned promptly. The Headmistress was quite eager to catch up with her little lioness, especially while the children were on winter holiday. So Hermione found herself, quite sooner than she was prepared to, bundled up tightly from the chill and making the trudge up from the winged boars gate to the empty castle. Hermione kept putting one foot in front of the other, her eyes habitually scanning the treeline to ensure no rogues, scoundrels or dangerous creatures emerged, as bloody unlikely as that was. But it kept her eyes from darting to the charred and hollowed out remains of Hagrid's hut. Just as her feet touched the flagstone, the front door swung open and the Headmistress greeted her much in the manner as she had done when Hermione had been a first year.

This time she knew that behind the austere robes and tight smile Minerva was as warm and welcoming as Molly Weasley. The Headmistress escorted her to her office, chatting politely while Hermione gave the perfunctory responses. Yes, she was fine. Winter was much colder this year than the last; yes, it would make for a healthy spring. Her company was fine, thank you for asking. No, she hadn't seen Harry recently. New textbooks? How interesting.

Her attention was drawn to the chips and hex scars that were fading into the masonry. Before she had set foot in Hogwarts as a student, the castle had been scratched and dented from generations of children fighting in the hallways. The Final Battle had only added its layer to what was already there. Hermione wondered if in a few generations any child would be able to tell that the scorch mark on the floor in front of a disused classroom was where Hermione had repaid in kind the hex Dolohov had given her. At the guardian gargoyle of the Headmistress' office Hermione noticed quite plainly that he was still missing an ear and took small satisfaction in that. It leaped aside allowing them passage. Once Hermione was settled, Minerva left her, mentioning she'd be back and they'd have a proper tea. Hermione nodded absently, her eyes round and unblinking at the wizard jovially popping painted lemon sherbets before her.

She heard the door shut behind her and took a deep breath before realizing she didn't quite know where to begin. It seemed impolite to demand he inform her of all the ugly secrets and back-alley deals he'd made during the war. Especially if she ended up arguing with a silly piece of wood daubed with pigmented oil.

"Ah, Hermione!" Albus broke the uneasy silence. "So you've come at last."

"Er?" Hermione cocked her head to the side questioningly. "You've been expecting me, Sir?"

"I assumed after you married Severus, you might be by."

"Oh."

Well, that made things easier. She was afraid she'd have to tell him about the Marriage Law, defend her logic of marrying Severus, and justify why she went ahead with the foolhardy plan of marrying his murderer. And then insist he tell her why his murderer was innocent. That's all. At least now she probably didn't have to tell him about the Marriage Law.

"You know how fast news travels. I believe it was Poppy who told me first, and she had heard it from Molly, who had been told by her son on the day he'd tried to propose to you."

"Oh." She was really going to have to work on her vocabulary. Her mouth quirked a few times, opening and closing as if she had something intelligent to say, but Hermione was at a total loss. She expected to have to rationalize her actions and apologize profusely, but the Headmaster looked quite at ease, whereas she most definitely was not.

"So you don't mind," Hermione whispered.

"No, not at all my child," Albus boomed. "On the contrary, I'm thrilled for both of you. I'd say you're a good match for each other. Severus needs someone to keep him on his toes."

Hermione's mind reeled before she snapped back into place. "But he killed you."

"That he did. Though I'm glad you're not calling it murder."

"But..."

"Hermione," Albus called softly. "Let it go. I have."

Her shoulders slumped and her head crumpled into her hands. She was so damned confused, and emotionally stretched thin.

"Mr. Ffoulkes said he was innocent. What does that mean?" she pleaded.

The Headmaster sat back in his chair studying the witch in front of him. She was in no place to hear the fullness of his truth. It was obvious that she was distraught, but he could ease her mind for now.

He sighed heavily as if bearing Atlas' burden, even though breath was an illusion for him. "During the war with Grindelwald, war crimes were committed on both sides. I'm fully aware of the sins I committed, but there were others who refused to accept their actions as criminal. Hermione, many wizards claimed to be 'only following orders' when they were brought to justice."

"They're still responsible for their own actions. They had a choice," Hermione snapped. "They didn't have to follow orders."

"I agree," the Headmaster said gently. "And Severus would agree with you, too. He believes he's responsible for everything he did while working under both Tom's and my orders."

"Oh."

"But he's mistaken, Hermione. I'm afraid his sins all belong to me. You see, he didn't have a choice. I took them all away from him."

Stricken, Hermione could only look at her former Headmaster and leader of the Light in horror.

"Go, Hermione. Go find your husband and provide whatever comforts you can for him. And tell him... tell him I'm sorry. I left documents and a penseive with Ffoulkes. The evidence supporting his innocence should be enough to sway any member of the Wizengamot if he ever decides to leave Azkaban. I suspect though, he'd have to forgive himself first. I only hope he can one day forgive me."

"But..." she had questions, so many more questions, but the old man feigned sleep. No amount of pleading roused him. Hermione tried desperately to get him to speak with her again, but he slept on.

An hour later Minerva found Hermione mumbling in incoherant half sentences at the dull painting, tears racing down puffy cheeks. She stumbled and slumped into a chair weeping uncontrollably while Minerva threw a healthy dose of floo powder into the fireplace. The girl didn't protest as Minerva guided her through.

Hermione emerged in her living room, soot dragging across the carpet as she found her couch, and cried herself to sleep as Crooks stood watchful guard over his mistress.

Back at the castle Albus was not allowed to feign sleep as Minerva turned her full formidable wrath upon him.

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A/N:  
Chapter title: Culpam poena premit comes - Punishment closely follows crime as its companion.

Thank you for reading! AV


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 20 - Omnia Mutantur, Nos Et Mutamur In Illis**

Yule, or Christmastime as Hermione mugglishly thought of it, was always a somber occasion for her. Even before her parents abruptly left her life the Christmas holiday had always been quietly choreographed and filled with private introspection, born out of years of candlelight services and a strong Methodist upbringing. Like most differences between the muggle and wizarding realms, Hermione felt the division acutely.

Weasley Yule celebrations had an uncanny way of driving home the fact that she skirted both worlds and yet felt like a native in neither. Had her mother still been around she would have dismissed Hermione's wistful longing to belong with flippant antipathy. According to her mum, the wizarding world was "chock full of goat-worshipping hell-bound Satanists, Pagans, and Druids."

Dad, however, was a deacon in the church of Saint Mattress of Posturepedic, but made an effort 'round the holidays to string up lights and play carols. Hermione always supposed the high number of suicides during the holidays had something to do with the sappy carols that played nonstop on every fucking radio station. Coincidence? It seemed that there might be a cause and effect relationship there.

Hermione's mind rested on none of these things as she gathered with the rest of the extended and adopted Weasley Clan for Christmas Eve. For all intents and purposes she could well have been a million of miles away, though Ginny, who had an amazing gift for perception, knew her friend was dwelling on someone confined a bit closer, the North Sea in particular.

Mrs. Weasley also noticed her adopted daughter's distance and attributed her apparent sadness to having made a lamentable life-choice, one she had strongly cautioned against.

She felt it was unnatural that a witch would deny herself a proper husband, that she had thrown her life away on a man who could provide her with neither affection nor children. To say Molly Weasley was quite disappointed in her decision was an understatement, but there was no going back. Hermione had gone and stuck her foot in it for good.

Molly's displeasure might also have had something to do with Hermione's rejection of two of her sons. The silly business with Ron during his school days was easy for them all to forget. The children did love each other immensely, or as Hermione put a fine point on it, 'loved each other immensely like brother and sister.' But then there was the business with Charlie.

Charlie was a good boy, and Molly had only the highest hopes for the two of them when they paired up. They were an excellent match for each other, and Hermione would have filled the Burrow with another generation of Weasley children, if Molly had her way. Charlie even fell head over heels for the muggle-born witch, but it wasn't enough for her. She'd kicked him over, too. For a career. Molly occasionally wondered if Rita Skeeter hadn't pinned her right all those years ago; the witch was a heart-breaker.

Perhaps it was a good thing though, Molly reasoned. Ever since Hermione's business had taken off, her life had turned into a mess. She didn't date, she didn't socialize, and she didn't go anywhere.

When forced by Ministry decree to take a husband and have children, she took Snape and turned her back on all the love, support, and nurturing motherhood had to offer. This didn't sit at all well with the Weasley matriarch. It was unnatural.

Hermione had to know she'd be miserable, the poor sap she'd married would be miserable, and her resulting offspring would resent her. Nobody deserved that. Well, maybe Snape did.

The Weasley living room was a cacophony of sound as several generations of the family told stories in their characteristically jolly manner, traded gossip, and played an occasional good-humored prank on one other. It was difficult not to get caught up in the pervasive warm spirit of the occasion amongst the flickering candlelight and comfort foods. Of course Hermione knew from personal experience that poignant family moments only lasted until one of the brothers suggested a good rousing game of 'smell my finger.'

Between loud renditions of traditional wizarding carols sung karaoke-style to Celestina Warbeck on the WWN, Ron clanked his glass to call the chaos to order as he attempted in a slightly slurred voice to make a toast. All eyes turned towards him and the young witch he'd brought with him that evening, a perky blond who'd twined herself around him like Devil's Snare, regardless of the reproving looks from Molly Weasley.

"Um, Happy Christmas everyone!" he glanced down apprehensively at his guest, "Well, actually what I wanted to say is, um, this is Becky, and she's just agreed to marry me."

There was only a slight pause before the Weasley clan descended on their youngest son offering heartfelt congratulations and squeezing the breath from his fiancée. Though everyone knew it was less than ideal to take up with a virtual stranger and just get married, Ministry deadlines were looming and many such weddings were in the works. Hermione silently thanked the gods she had the foresight not to procrastinate as she gave her best wishes to the happy couple.

Ginny appeared at her shoulder with a slightly twisted frown. Hermione knew that look.

"Go for a walk?" she offered, looking out at the gently swirling snow.

Ginny gathered their cloaks and the girls slipped away unnoticed from the celebration. Together they quietly strolled the property around the Burrow, leaving faint tracks in the fresh snowfall. Eventually they circled back and found a clean place to sit behind Arthur's shed.

"Have you met Becky before?" Hermione opened.

Ginny shook her head, "No, but she seems nice, I guess."

"Well, she certainly does like him. I thought the poor girl was going to go into withdrawal for the few minutes she didn't have her hands all over him."

Ginny giggled and Hermione relaxed just a bit. Ginny needed some laughter in her life. The Ministry edicts would only give her a few months past her next birthday to find a husband before they found one for her.

"Yeah, I saw that too. I think she had one of her hands down his pants." Ginny smiled and shook her head again. "Quidditch groupies, they're all the same."

"So? Go on any good dates lately?"

"No. I don't know why I even bother; the Ministry will probably just pair me up in the loser's lottery anyway."

"Gin, don't think like that!"

"Why, it's true, you know. Though Harry did say if I got desperate enough, he'd be willing."

The girls turned their heads back towards the warmth of the house where Harry sat cuddled up close with his lover Ollie. They both knew that even though Harry's offer was sweet and entirely altruistic, it wasn't realistic. Or right. Ginny wasn't keen on bonding herself to Harry when it went against his natural persuasion. That would be horrible. All new marriages came with a certified-approved Ministry backed Fidelity charm.

The current Fidelity charm had been approved along with the Marriage Law legislation, and small embarrassing snippets of articles were popping up in publications all over suggesting that perhaps the Ministry hadn't worked all of the bugs out of the charm before mandating it. With glitches in the charm however, there was no reliable way of knowing how the charm would react on a wizard with an intrinsic desire to be female, as magic could be directed and redirected by the force of a person's intention. Hermione was still galled to no end that an entire generation of witches had been sold in lot into sexual slavery and to add insult to injury the Ministry had placed a permanent charm on their persons that was unpredictable and possibly harmful.

The Fidelity charm only 'warded' against intercourse that resulted procreation, and an awkwardly worded informational Ministry pamphlet described oral and anal sodomy were not effected. Hermione surmised the reasoning was so that the old lecherous geezers -who had written the law to forcibly ensnare healthy young witches- could still get their jollies to their heart's content without having to remain completely faithful to their witch. After all, oral sex and buggery tended to favor the pleasure of selfish male lovers.

"It'll all work out, Gin. I have faith that it will."

"Like it did with you and Snape?" she gave a mirthless laugh.

"Actually…"

Ginny stared at her, her mouth slightly open. "I knew it!"

"What?" Hermione asked defensively. "I'm just saying it's not as bad as I feared it would be. It's actually working out quite well."

Ginny looked like she wanted to protest before closing her mouth and adding, "I figured it had to be something like that. I know you're going over there every night. Though it did take me awhile to work out where you were disappearing to."

Hermione twitched uncomfortably. She just didn't know how to talk about all the conflicting feelings she'd been bottling up. How could she explain to Ginny that her evenings with Snape the evil murdering Death Eater were pleasant? More than pleasant. Comfortable. Happy even. That she enjoyed every rare glimpse of his dimple and mischievous quirk of his eyebrows. It would be easy to simply dismiss their relationship as amicable because they were intellectual equals, but it was frustratingly more complex than that. Hermione couldn't possibly begin to describe to another how she felt, when she didn't really understand any of it herself.

"What's wrong?" Ginny prodded. "Hermione, fess up. Something's eating you."

Hermione dropped her head into her hands and moaned. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I wasn't supposed to actually care for him."

Ginny gasped, "You like him? You like Snape! Hermione, what the hell are you thinking? We all thought you were crazy for marrying him, but have you lost your ever-loving mind? He's a Death Eater! He murdered Professor Dumbledore, for Merlin's sake."

Hermione bit her lip and Ginny saw tears collecting in her eyes. "But that's just it. I'm not so certain he did anymore."

"Hermione, maybe we ought to go inside. You're not thinking straight. Maybe it's all the cauldron fumes, or stress from work…"

"I went to see Dumbledore's portrait, and do you know what he told me? He said Severus was acting under orders."

"Yes Mione, we've all heard that before, but he's a portrait. You can't take that stuff seriously, he's not actually Professor Dumbledore. You can't believe what a painting says over what Harry witnessed, or what everyone knows to be true. Snape's not innocent."

Hermione scrubbed the wet from her eyelashes and tried to compose herself before she lost it. She hadn't been able to visit Severus since her conversation with Mr. Ffoulkes. She couldn't see him. She couldn't face him. Hermione could only manage to drop by take-away food for Severus and the boys before going home and crashing on the couch. She didn't think her life could possibly get more upside down and complicated when she married the taciturn wizard.

The Headmaster's confession still hung heavy like a weight on her shoulders. She hadn't been able to ask what form of compulsion to obey Severus had been under while the Headmaster was still alive, or even if he was still under obligation as death did not necessitate the dissolution of a vow. The old tosspot had feigned sleep. Had he been corporeal and Hermione a bit better recovered from her shock she might have strangled him until those twinkling blue eyes bulged. There were many ways in the wizarding world to force someone to comply with orders and not all of them involved Dark magic or Imperious. Then again, academically speaking 'Dark magic' was loosely defined and depended entirely upon the ethics of whatever idiot or ministry stooge was writing definitions.

She had known that the Headmaster believed Severus could never betray them. He had said many times his faith in the Potion Master was unshakable, but that was before he was tossed off a tower. Now Hermione saw the implication that Headmaster Dumbledore had either given the order or allowed Severus Snape to betray him. The thought alone was enough to send her mind reeling.

She had told him it was not her place to pry and then had researched every bit of information she could about him. She had not asked about the Headmaster because it seemed much too personal, more so than asking if he had ever had a girlfriend, and had sought out behind his back the Headmaster's portrait. Wait! It wasn't as if she had gone behind his back. She didn't need his permission, he didn't know any better, and well, the man was in Azkaban, but Hermione still felt guilty for her actions. She had pried and the answers she had uncovered only led to more questions. Many more questions. She was afraid she was going to have to pry. Again.

"He might be," Hermione said quietly. "I only went to Professor Dumbledore's portrait after his lawyer Mr. Ffoulkes told me he was innocent. Professor Dumbledore said Ffoulkes has evidence exonerating him from the crime. I knew something was fishy during the contract negotiations, when he said Severus could be released from prison. I just didn't think it could possibly be true."

Hermione grimaced, thinking back to Harry. True, he was passionately in love with Ollie and the two of them hadn't budged from the couch all night, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was avoiding her. Had been avoiding her since she married Severus. Originally Hermione assumed it was old schoolyard grudges that had driven a wedge, and it wasn't as if anyone really approved of their union, but now… Now she didn't know what to think. Was it possible he knew something about Severus? Hermione shook her head slightly, clearing out all the paranoid conspiracy theories that had been swimming just below the surface of her mind.

Ginny intently listened to her best friend. "You've got to think clearly about this, Hermione. If he were innocent he wouldn't be sitting in Azkaban. It makes no sense."

"Yes, yes it does. Just because he may be innocent doesn't mean he doesn't _feel_ guilty. He told me he keeps himself in prison. I just chose not to listen to it."

"So what now?"

"Now? I don't know, Ginny. I just don't know."

They sat together in silence watching heavy snowflakes spin and dance before kissing the ground.

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A/N:  
Chapter title: Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis - All things are changing, and we are changing with them

Special wonderful thanks to my Beta Christev20. You're fabulous! I lay flowers at your feet.

I apologize to anyone who was upset that I didn't post on Wednesday. Between work and New Years plans I didn't have the opportunity. And though he didn't show up in this chapter, I promise you'll see Severus again soon!

Happy New Year everyone!

Please consider leaving a review. _Thank you! _AV


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 21 - Beneficium Accipere Libertatem Est Vendere**

Severus stood, perched precariously on top of the armrests of his much loved armchair, happy that he was finally high enough to be able to look out his window to watch the snow fall. Hermione's re-charmed window no longer let in the bone deep cold that pervaded the prison. True to her word, it let in airflow, but it kept his cell's temperature a constant. Though he wouldn't have traded the freezing North Sea wind for his warm comfortable bed, Severus missed being able to feel how the elements invaded his cell before her charms.

In the previous incarnation of his life Severus hadn't been particularly in tune with nature. He never sought out 'mother nature' like some sandal-wearing hippie. Rather, he was content to view it from behind enchanted windows and occasionally, when the mood struck, bottle up bits of it. But ever since his incarceration the sharp freezing winters and blistering hot summers connected him with life outside, and he'd grown a deep and abiding love for his planet. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing better than the occasional thunderstorm which brought howling wind and splattering rain into his life.

Now, his climate-controlled sealed environment made him feel even more confined. Snowflakes whipped around the darkening sky, pushed on by speeding winds in a violent ballet. By gods it was glorious, and Severus just wanted to plant his naked feet into the ground and let himself be overtaken by nature's fury.

He stood atop the armchair watching the storm until he could no longer see out into the darkened night. After dutifully preparing himself for bed (something he'd never done when he had only a smelly cot to lie on), Severus laid awake thinking of his bushy haired Vixen.

She knew. He knew she knew. And it was awful. Ffoulkes should have just kept his damned mouth shut, but stupidly thought he was doing Severus a favor. The afternoon he visited, Severus had requested several items be taken from his vault for Hermione's Christmas gift. When she dropped off the Russian dumplings but didn't visit, Severus thought it peculiar, but was unconcerned.

The next morning Ffoulkes returned with a smile and obvious pride in the gem he let drop from his lips for Hermione's benefit, and Severus' stomach sank. He liked it better when Hermione simply thought of him as a cruel unfeeling murderer. The gods only knew what she thought of him now. The witch probably pitied him. She thought of him as a coward. That was probably why she hadn't returned.

Hermione hadn't returned.

The food she continued to drop off was of course appreciated, but it was her company that he craved. Silly, that the biggest thorn in his side next to Potter, the know-it-all swot, could make his days worthwhile and …happy. He'd even begun to pay attention to the calendar for her. By his estimate she'd been to two production meetings, two staff meetings, the annual manufacturing meeting, and a sit down with all of the distributors before halting the assembly line for the holidays. And Severus didn't even get to hear how any of them went. It was all patently unfair.

Unfortunately the whole "innocent" business meant that when Hermione did finally put in an appearance, she'd arrive loaded with questions. Her previous tack 'not to pry' would of course be forgotten. She'd be full of ceaseless, never-ending, annoying, constant, probing questions. There'd be no living with her now.

Hermione Granger was a force of nature, and damned near impossible to deter when she had a new project or, dear gods, a mission to save his poor soul.

He could already visualize putting Spellotape on her lips.

Though if she didn't at least make an attempt at showing her face Christmas morning he would consider taking legal action. Clearly she was abandoning her duties as a wife.

****

Christmas morning dawned clear and bright, just as perfectly as it should. It found Hermione with mug of coffee in hand, engaged in a staring contest with a pair of golden eyes. Again, Crooks refused to take his pill, but the staring contest seemed to contain a silent conversation about something entirely different.

Crookshanks cocked his head.

"I'll be right back and we can spend the day together Crooksy. I'll just drop his packages off and …" Hermione threw her hands on her hips. "It's not like he actually will want me there!"

Crookshanks said nothing.

"I'm not wimping out! I just don't want to intrude on his holiday." She knew it sounded ridiculous even as she said it. Snape. Holiday spirit. Ha! It was as far-fetched as Snape dancing the Hukilau.

He flicked his bottle-brush tail a few times and twitched a whisker.

"Don't you dare look at me in that tone of voice, young man."

With another flick of his tail which seemed to convey, 'whatever,' Crooks sauntered away to plop on the rug and proceeded to give his genitalia the attention it deserved.

"Oh, very mature. You'll put your mouth on that, but you won't take this pill? You're impossible, Crooks."

Hermione threw up her hands. All the men in her life were damned impossible. Well, there was no use putting off the inevitable any longer. Hermione gathered her cloak and packages and Apparated to the visitors entrance of Azkaban.

Typically she was met by two guards as she passed through the security terminal in the Long Term Inmate section. They had special incantations and devices similar to muggle metal detectors that revealed malicious objects or intent, but Hermione was never overly concerned and the boys never appeared to be either. Hermione had become some sort of fixture in the place. Truthfully she was the only regular visitor, and the boys really did like her and the food she brought. The inmates weren't the only ones who had to endure the grub.

Christmas morning, instead of the usual complement of two guards it was just Billy Mulciber, who looked quite wretched.

"Happy Christmas, Billy," she said brightly painting on a cheerful face, "You're not here by yourself all day, are you?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"What a shame, this is a day for family, but don't think I've forgotten about you." Hermione withdrew a white box stuffed with red paper and handed it to him. "I have a few more for the other boys. You will pass them on, won't you?"

"Yes Ma'am," he replied morosely.

Hermione was just passing through the checkpoint when she met his sad blue eyes peering from behind a long fringe of brown bangs. If she didn't know better she'd have thought he'd just been having a good cry.

"Not to worry, Billy," she soothed, "You'll be home soon enough and I'm sure they'll save plenty of sweets for you."

His eyes cast quickly downwards and Hermione was struck by the deep look of pain that crossed his features. "Billy," she whispered, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Did I say something wrong? What's the matter?"

He continued to make eye contact with the floor as he mumbled, "Nothing, Ma'am."

Hermione put down her wand and packages, drew herself up, and folded her arms across her chest. She was settling down for the long haul; she'd get it out of him whether he liked it or not. Nobody was supposed to be that sullen on Christmas.

"Well? I'm waiting," she prompted.

Billy slowly shook his head, "I'm sorry, I just get a bit misty eyed 'round this time of year. I miss my family, that's all."

"Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't realize… that was horribly insensitive of me."

"Aw, no worries," he said sheepishly. A moment later he looked up at her with a hint of a smile, "Would you like to meet them?" he asked eagerly.

Hermione's expression must have conveyed her confusion as he hastily added, "They're all two cells up from Mister Snape."

"Oh… uh, alright Billy," she responded apprehensively. Hermione was NOT interested in meeting his family. She didn't have even the slightest bit of morbid curiosity, but then she wasn't going to tread on Billy's Christmas.

He led her down the corridor towards Snape's cell. The corridor was wide and dimly lit, faintly reminding Hermione of the dungeons at Hogwarts. It was always silent in Azkaban prison, only the loud echoes of their footsteps or the occasional squeaky wheel from the meal trolley punctuated the eerie quiet.

When they arrived at the door Hermione found it odd that he did not call for the prisoners to present themselves, but had her answer the moment the door swung wide.

The Mulciber family slept peacefully, stacked against the walls on hard cots, and Hermione was reminded of a sleeping cabin aboard a train. Magical IV's were plugged into veins in their collar bones keeping their bodies pink and healthy looking. If she didn't immediately know they'd been kissed, she'd think they were just having a lie in.

In a moment of sickening clarity Hermione knew exactly what had become of the Ministry's processed masses. Those for whom the Wizengamot didn't have time to spare a trial. Those swept up in Ministerial Decrees. She remembered seeing the line that stretched around the atrium when she'd been there for some long forgotten reason. Kockturn Alley shopkeepers, former Slytherins, and shady looking persons patiently waiting in line, some clutching Ministry summons, others checking their timepieces eager to get back on with their lives. Kissed and soulless. After all, it was much easier to warehouse bodies than undesirable people.

Like a bitter aspirin on her tongue, Hermione recalled how happy she'd been that they were finally doing something to make the streets safer. Perhaps a day late and a knut short, but nevertheless she'd been honestly glad to know they were taking the threat of rogue Death Eaters seriously. But not this. Never this. She hadn't known. Nobody knew. The presses had been silent.

"Is this them?" she asked in awe knowing it was a silly question, "Is this all of them?"

Her eyes drank in their vacant expressions, mothers and children.

"Yeah, the ones that survived." He knelt down by a little boy who couldn't have been older than a fourth year and held his hand.

A cold shiver ran down her spine; she easily counted fifteen women and children, 'sleeping.' Their faces seemed innocent in their peace.

"I don't get it," she said once her voice returned to her. "Why?"

Billy stiffened and stood up clenching his jaw. "Loyal followers of the Dark Lord. Ministry said they were unredeemable."

"The children…" she choked.

Billy scrubbed his eyes and nodded. "This is my Ma," he gestured to a thin woman with perfect cheekbones, and thick chestnut hair streaked with silver. "My brothers… sis."

He waved his arm around to encompass another set of bunks, "Aunt Gladys, they said she was sleeping with the devil. Said my cousins were his spawn. Aunt Ronda brought all the kids out to the edge of the Forbidden Forest for a picnic during the Final Battle. Wanted to see their fathers in action defeating Harry Potter. Mind you none of them participated, little Junebug couldn't even lift a wand."

"That's horrible! I don't know what to say."

"Nothing really to say," he shrugged.

"And what about you? Why aren't you…"

"Dead? Kissed?" Billy scratched the back of his neck. "I wasn't here. My Da never made me join up because he said I was too smart for it. Sent me to Canada for most of the war to get my Masters of Arithmancy. Now I wonder if he did it because he knew this might happen."

Neither said another word until Severus was called to present himself for inspection.

Hermione could only think Severus ought to be damned ashamed of himself. Squadering his life while others had no choice.

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A/N: Long ago I had heard that families and spectators would gather at the edges of American Civil War battlefields to watch the entertainment. Not only did this strike me as particularly cruel, but infinitely stupid as well. Still, I imagined that it would be in keeping with some staunch Death Eater families.

Chapter title: Beneficium accipere libertatem est vendere - To accept a favour is to sell freedom. (Publilius Syrus)

Many many thanks for my terrific beta Christev20. She deserves kudos too!

Thank you for leaving a review. AV


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 22 - Ascendo Tuum**

"It's about time, Witch," Severus growled as the door opened. "You thought you could just leave me here to rot."

"Please," she rolled her eyes, "It's prison, you're here to rot."

Hermione couldn't believe his gall. She was there to bring him his Christmas goodies, nasty pickled walnuts and all that, and the man had the audacity to grumble about his lot in life. Did he not know he was surrounded by lifeless bodies who'd never have another Christmas? Clearly he lacked perspective.

Hermione pinched her forehead between her eyebrows, and threw his boxes to the bed. As Severus sorted through them like an eager child Hermione dropped into the armchair completely exhausted.

Severus eyed his bride over his shoulder. He was certain she'd say something stupid like, 'Oh my dear sweet Severus, you won't rot here in prison much longer. My wonderful brave Gryffindor buddies and I have taken it upon ourselves to prove your innocence. You'll finally be touted as the War Hero you really are,' or some other such claptrap. By the indifference she'd shown him that was plainly not in the cards. Thank the gods.

"Well," he encouraged, "Where've you been? Don't think I won't let this indiscretion go unpunished."

"I was busy."

"Busy!" he shouted dropping a very nice bottle of 16 year old Ogden's back on the bed.

Admittedly, the excuse did sound a bit flimsy, but at least she hadn't said anything about having to wash her hair, or Nargles eating her homework, Hermione justified. "I do have a life you know. We've been over this before. And it's not like I let you starve either."

"Pathetic. Hermione, if you're going to lie, at least try to sound somewhat convincing about it. If you can't lie successfully than at least tell the truth. Your proud Gryffindor bravery failed you."

She narrowed her eyes, "I said I was busy, I don't have to justify anything to you. And I certainly don't have to defend the honor of my house to a Slytherin."

Was he trying to provoke a fight? It certainly sounded like it. He was being childish enough to bring up old House rivalries. Didn't that get old after graduation? Someone must have missed nap time.

"Some Gryffindor you are," he snorted. "Scared away by the innuendos of a man who knows nothing. You couldn't dare face me with the suspicion that I might not be a common murderer."

"Yeah? How 'bout that Snape? Were you really wrongly accused? Because the rest of the world and I have it on very good authority that you murdered Dumbledore. What did that poor old man ever do to you, huh? Offer you one too many lemon drops? Offend your fashion sense by dressing in brightly clashing robes? He certainly didn't hold you back from worshipping at the feet of your precious Dark Lord." With a satisfying feral grin Hermione watched him recoil from her words.

"Tell me Snape, what caused you to hate the Headmaster so much that you killed him for it?"

"Because he asked me to!" Severus raged, pulling at his lank hair. "I only did everything that man asked of me and he had to ask to do that."

"What did you say?" she whispered.

Severus sat on the bed, his head in his hands. "He asked me to do it. Begged me to. My soul's already damned; Albus probably figured 'what's another spot on an already blackened soul?' I owed a life debt to James Potter and was responsible for his murder. Do you have any idea what kind of taint that puts on a man? By karmic law I'm damned; no amount of atonement will be ever be enough to absolve my sins. Albus knew it and took advantage of me."

"You're not making any sense." No, no sense at all, but she'd obviously hit such a nerve that he was crouched on the bed looking less like a former Death Eater and more like a trembling scared boy. Hermione still kept away; it wouldn't be prudent to offer comfort to a Death Eater or approach him. Caged animals were notorious for striking without warning.

She hadn't known he was religious either, and she wondered about his upbringing, but then Hermione postulated that was probably the effect of all prisons. Ruminating on life, death and the afterlife while stuck in a cell tended to make many thick skinned criminals fear for the condition of their souls.

"What part of it is supposed to make sense, Hermione? It never made any sense to me."

She took a deep calming breath and tried to match his exasperated tone with gentleness. "Well, let's start at the beginning. What happened on that tower?" Despite his protestations, Hermione could see he was itching to get his story off his chest.

He looked up startled, "That," he hissed, "is certainly not the beginning. The end… only the end…" Severus shook his head as if the action could make it all not true.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, "You mentioned he asked you to kill him." In her mind Hermione was mulling over what exactly that meant, and the only thing she could come up with was assisted suicide… if you could believe the testimony of a convicted Death Eater. "Why would he ask that of you?"

Severus gave a dry mirthless laugh before stretching out on the bed, "Million galleon question. He believed he was dying from the curse of Marvolo's ring, but I never believed that." Severus turned his head to eye his witch. She was listening attentively, hanging on every word, looking every bit like a bushy haired eleven year old swot itching to wave her hand in the air. She wanted a story… Severus would give her a story, then maybe he'd have his peace.

He cleared his throat and began again in his soft silken lecture tones, "The Dark Lord sent Draco to kill the Headmaster. Albus knew this, of course."

"That's why he was on the tower that night…"

"…Don't interrupt!" he barked. "You're so damned sure you want to know what happened, you will hear me out to the end and not interrupt. Impudent girl."

"Albus was always a softy. He cared more for that little shit's life than mine. He couldn't stand the idea that Draco would cast the killing curse and damn his soul. They're called Unforgivables for a reason, Hermione, and it has nothing to do with the Wizengamot. Steeped in old magic and rooted in tradition some say that the damage done to your soul by casting an Unforgivable makes you so unworthy by the Gods that neither penance nor self-flagellation can tip the scales back in your favor. Albus believed he was saving Draco from that fate. A fate he didn't mind damning me to.

"Of course I never bought that story either. Draco was a shit if ever there was a shit. It was only a matter of time before he threw an Unforgivable, and we know he proved himself quite adept at those on the battlefield. Gods, how the son degenerates from the sire." Severus shook his head, and closed his eyes to blot out images and fractured emotions spiraling within.

"And of course the Headmaster was convinced that his murder would ingratiate me back into the Dark Lord's inner circle and dispel their rumors about my loyalties. He even gave me permission to take an oath for Narcissa. Stupid. Of course it put me in with the Dark Lord's ranks, but only to the exclusion of the Order. How bloody useful is a spy you can't trust? Nothing I did was good enough to prove my worth. The intelligence I risked my hide and hair to gather was naturally dismissed by the Order. They burned it all without even looking at it.

"So you want to know why Albus asked me to murder him? Go ask the man himself; I doubt I'll ever know." It was a hollow sacrifice, and Severus knew to the very fiber of his being he'd find no redemption in it either.

He should have died. Severus believed it to his very foundation. He was the old curmudgeon, with more dead and withered limbs than the Headmaster. He was the one who deserved it.

"It doesn't sound like murder to me," she said in a small voice.

"Idiot girl, you would say that. It doesn't matter, you're quibbling over semantics. An _Avada_ is an _Avada_. Killed… murdered… what's the difference?"

"Intention?" she offered carefully.

"Intention?" he snorted. "I bloody knocked him off a six story tower. What do you think the intention was there?"

They were quiet for a minute. Not only was Hermione rendered speechless, but her brain had slowed down to such a trickle she couldn't process the new information. The only logical conclusion she could come up with was, if, and only IF Severus was telling the truth, then he hadn't actually betrayed the Order. The Headmaster had been right. Of course the painted facsimile ever-so-slightly forgot to mention his death had been a direct order. That sort of omission was disgraceful.

She had had a hard enough time coming to terms with his betrayal then; he was extraordinarily difficult to get along with, had an absolutely irascible temper, but he was never really what he seemed. All of their accusations against the heartless wizard had turned out to be unfounded. Years of slowly simmering anger toward him did not make her predisposed to believe his innocence so easily. Now from the lips of so many, it was difficult to hear. She had heard he was innocent. Wrapping her head around that idea was strange and foreign. Looking at the hollow man in front of her, she accepted the truth. Apparently, he could not.

As she studied him closer, saw the blame he directed at himself and his painful self-loathing, the way he looked so …broken, Hermione no longer believed he deserved his fate. She longed to weep piteously with him, even though it was obvious that he would not yield to tears. Later though, she would shed them for him. Cry for the once proud wizard who touched her heart with his abject pain.

"So, what exactly were you thinking about when you cast the curse? You had to be channeling some anger…"

"Some anger? Are you really that dense, girl? Of course I had to be angry, that's how you cast an Unforgivable." He paused. "I was pissed off. Furious, really."

"Why?"

"Why else? I was angry with that bastard for making me do it. There had to be another way, but he wouldn't hear of it. When the Great Albus Fucking Dumbledore made up his sugar saturated mind, or gods forbid, thought he was working for the greater fucking good, he was obstinate and inflexible."

"But you never actually desired to see him dead," Hermione mused.

"Why are you beating this dead Thestral, Granger?"

"Because we're talking about the difference between capital murder, manslaughter, and assisted suicide!"

"Oh bloody fucking hell!" he sat up and leaned forward into Hermione's face.

The cell was small enough that she was inches from his snarling face and could even smell his mint tooth powder.

"You don't get it do you? It doesn't matter why I killed Albus, just that I did. With a bit of foolish wand waving I killed him, and this is my consequence, my fate. And he's not the only soul I have on my conscience, either. Or did you think the Death Eaters were a stamp collecting club? That we took a break from revels to have a spot of tea? That our mayhem was just a bit of youthful exuberance. You know, a bit of 'boys will be boys?'"

"No…" she answered trying to keep her voice from quavering.

"Then stop your line of inquiry. Smartest witch of your age? Really?"

"But the charges against you are only for Professor Dumbledore's murder."

"I know," he said dully, "Madam Bones set it up that way so I'd only have to appeal that one charge." There was a strange bitterness in his voice as if he was disappointed that he had help from the Order in his trial.

"But it's only _one_ charge."

"Which means what, Granger? The Wizengamot didn't need to level anything more against me. I'd been acquitted of being a Death Eater once thanks to Albus; to charge me again could be considered double jeopardy. Besides, don't you think murdering the greatest wizard the Light had was grounds enough?"

"But only if you're guilty!" She rubbed her face. Why was he so stubborn?

"Stop!" he commanded. "I refuse to put up with any more of your misguided sentimentalities. There is enough innocent blood on these hands without Albus' murder to taint them. And Granger, if you continue this insane line of thinking do you really understand where it will lead? If by some act of true stupidity you get the Wizengamot to overturn my conviction and I leave Azkaban, are you really so eager to welcome me into your arms? What happened to our perfect marriage of convenience? Would you really want to wake up in the mornings to this face?"

"Not really," she admitted softly, choking slightly on the words as they tripped out.

Of course that was what she was thinking. There was a deep seated sense of justice ingrained into her. Simply stated, the wrongly convicted should be exonerated. Even if he were convicted of manslaughter or assisted suicide, it was more than likely that he'd already served the time. Hermione would just have to reconcile that she could live with herself knowing that Snape was innocent and languishing in prison, and she wanted to keep him there to avoid the restrictions of the fucking Marriage Law again.

Hermione knew what she should have done. She should have married Gilderoy Bleeding Lockhart. At least then they'd have deep discussions about morality and the weight of immortal spirits while watching Powderpuff Girls. Okay, so technically she could babble to herself about existentialism and the human condition and he could eat his Choco Wizardflakes.

He retrieved a box from the book shelf and shoved it in her hand. "Your Christmas gift, my dearest. Take it now and go. I have no more patience for your foolishness, nor do I want to be one of your crusades."

Hermione nodded and quickly left him to his brooding silence, but she didn't go far. She observed him from the jailer's slot… looking peaceful? Relieved?

Severus was grateful for her hasty departure; it gave him the opportunity to relax. And breathe.

He felt surprisingly good. Really good.

Perhaps the sages were right. Confession was good for the soul.

She didn't have to empathize or have sympathy for him, as he'd never been one to throw his own pity party. Wallow in shame – yes, that was understandable; he was after all, a murdering fucking Death Eater. But Hermione just had to know the unadulterated truth; how she chose to interpret it was entirely up to her. Someone had to just know, he couldn't go to his death with no one knowing. And in sharing the truth, the burden on his soul felt a hair lighter.

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A/N:

Chapter title: Ascendo tuum - Up yours

'Gods, how the son degenerates from the sire.' Quote borrowed from Homer.

I am amazed by how many history buffs we have reading. Mad props to wynnleaf for pointing out it was the Battle of Manassas that genteel spectators from D.C. got plowed over by carnage.

Yea! Special thanks to beta-extraordinaire Christev20, who as you know, rocks.

Please leave a review! Thank you. AV


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 23 - Peccavi**

Hermione Granger was no stranger to moral dilemmas. As per her indisputable reputation as Hogwarts' reigning squeaky-clean know-it-all, she'd spent many an occasion acting as moral authority and sounding board for all sorts of childhood woes. She could handle this. She just had to logically think through her problem as if it belonged to someone else, objectively, impartially, and level-headed _damn it._

It was time to make a list.

On one hand: Could she in all good conscience sit idly back and allow an innocent man to rot in prison?

And on the other: Lending her aid would result in everything she had been so desperate to avoid. A real husband, children, home life, dirty nappies, day care, cooking dinner, doing dishes, sex with Snape. No time for her career. No time for her research. No time for herself.

Oh, certainly there were other nuisances and quibbles she could add to the list, but the argument boiled down to one thing really: _Was she willing to trade her freedom for his? _

How could she? The wizard seemed perfectly happy to rot in his cell. Okay, gilded cage; it wasn't like the man was rotting on Chinese take-away. But then, how could she not? Hermione wasn't certain if she had the evil inclination within her bones, her soul, her conscience, to let him stay in prison when he was by definition a war hero, despite his vociferous protestations.

Hermione certainly couldn't hold him responsible for the Potters' deaths. It's not like he knew they were the family targeted by prophecy and fate, so that karmic law drivel he spouted seemed quite irrelevant. She also knew that very early in his Death Eater career Severus Snape became a spy for the Order. Whatever crimes he committed were acts of war, and since soldiers weren't arrested for pulling their triggers on the battlefield, it seemed wrong to hold him accountable for the same thing. Then of course, there was the Big One: the Headmaster's death. Hermione didn't know what to make of it, but murder didn't seem to be an apt description.

Dwelling on her own personal moral dilemma, she came up empty handed and slightly dizzy from all the circular thinking. Rightfully speaking, there had to be a correct answer. If one took the supposition that it was morally wrong to keep Severus incarcerated, then her path was clear. She simply needed to take whatever evidence Dumbledore had left, per the Headmaster's wishes no less, and set Snape free. Whether he wanted it or not.

Hermione just didn't know if she was that altruistic.

Being a Gryffindor didn't automatically equate with being a sucker.

Shaking her head of profound thoughts worthy of an eighteenth century German philosopher, Hermione tabled the topic for the time being. Charging in head-first like a Gryffindor hopped up on adrenaline, bravado, and a mission to save the proverbial world wouldn't help anyone in this case. Maybe stewing on her dilemma would render a more suitable answer. One that didn't contradict her integrity or sell herself short.

Which of course didn't solve anything with Snape. Well, Severus really. Their relationship was nowhere near what one would call healthy, but then given the circumstances, that was fairly understandable. The sad truth was, she really liked him, or at least she liked his company when he wasn't sulking or being a complete shithead. And he did make a decent husband, especially since it was all at her convenience, but Hermione was afraid she'd gone and mucked it all up.

Their nights together had been strained, but Hermione felt certain the best way to smooth things over with Severus was with steaming plates of food. Unshakably confident in her hypothesis, Hermione tested her theory by stopping at her favorite Indian restaurant. She made sure she ordered lamb korma, since Severus had difficulties stringing words into coherent sentences when lamb and heaps of pillowy soft naan were at the table.

Severus was reading a newspaper when he was called to present himself for inspection. He looked up, scowled at the interruption, and Hermione caught him covertly sniffing the air. Yep, Indian food was right on the mark. She had nearly enough empirical data to write an Arithmancy theorem on the wizard. Predictable: (a) Wizard's interest to (b) Witch was directly proportional to (c) aromatic quality of food. Easy enough, a third year could graph. Though it smacked more of a Lavender Brown rule to live by than an Arithmancy equation. Severus would probably throw an all-out hissy fit if she ever mentioned how much he had in common with Ron Weasley.

Unlike previous encounters when she brought in mouthwatering take-away, Severus acted neither interested nor eager. In fact, he didn't say a word to her. Instead he returned to his paper and coolly accepted dinner with an outstretched hand. He had been giving her the cold shoulder for quite some time and frankly, she was getting cheesed off. Really, the man was so irritatingly stubborn.

By the end of dinner Hermione was near fuming with his silent treatment. It was childish, immature, and stupid. Hermione was tempted to jump up and down, shouting, 'You're not being fair! You're being childish, immature, and stupid!' but somehow throwing a temper-tantrum didn't sound all that grown-up either.

As she packed up the Styrofoam take-away boxes and cast her warming charms that would keep the food fresh till at least lunch the next day, Severus peeked his head over the top of his newspaper.

"What's a Slinky?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"A Slinky. What is it?"

"It's a silly child's toy. I don't think I could really describe it to you; it's one of those things you just have to see. Why?"

"I'm reading an Op-ed article in which someone is quoted as saying, 'Some people are like Slinkys - not really good for anything, but you still can't help but smile when you see one tumble down the stairs.' I rather like the sound of that, but I have no idea what a Slinky is."

Hermione smiled and her eyes lit up. "Well then, I'll just have to bring you one."

"I suspect I'll like that."

"I suspect you will."

Hermione was utterly bewildered that Severus Snape had accepted the olive branch, but she was happy. Maybe she couldn't resolve what to do for Severus, but perhaps making his self-imposed incarceration just a wee bit better was good enough for now.

The moment she left, Severus sprawled out across his bed. He would never have allowed Hermione to catch him in such thoroughly unseemly repose. She had the worst habit of any meddling female he'd ever met for spying through the jailer's slot, but her heels clacking loudly against the flagstone meant he was safe to let his guard down for the moment. The witch would be the death of him. He was certain of it. At least with a Cruciatus he always had the brief pleasure of passing out, but Hermione Granger could possibly be the darkest curse ever inflicted upon his person. Surely the Gods were amusing themselves at his expense. He couldn't stand another day of ignoring her presence. It wounded him to do so, which was odd indeed. Since when did the age-old art form of shunning hurt?

Ye Gods, since when did his joy and misery revolve around a hag-haired swot? Since she walked into his fetid cell, her nose wrinkled up at the stench, and offered him more than he could ever hope for: companionship. Severus had accepted his solitary existence until offered the smallest crumbles of a life. His beloved friend and mentor, the flamboyant wizard, had kept him at arm's length even before he had cast his curse. Ironic, that his first real relationship only developed after being imprisoned, unless he counted the odd shag Kathleen had thrown his way, which he did not.

It was another sterling example of how the Gods liked to fuck with poor old Snapey. Why couldn't she have appeared in his life a few decades earlier? No. Not her specifically, Severus was no kiddie-fiddler. But he couldn't help but contemplate how much happier he'd have been if any intelligent and attractive witch had wanted to spend time with him when he had been a free man. It was pathetic really, that it had taken going to Azkaban to land a witch of his own.

Azkaban was a fortress he'd shaped in his mind, his cell a home and resting place for his abused soul. He accepted this. Longed for it. Decades before, when the idea of winning some climactic 'Final Battle' was such a long-shot it was too absurdly humorous to contemplate, Severus knew definitively ending the Dark Lord's existence would not earn him the redemption he desired. When was redemption complete? Certainly not amongst the carnage of a bloody battle. Surely he hadn't been forgiven because the Light had won? Perhaps if Fortuna had smiled upon him and allowed him to die on the field.

This had to be his path. His cell his well earned privilege. His final opportunity to seek atonement. The uncounted days stretched behind him, the unnamed years stretched before him. Fortuna only ruled half of men's fate; the other half belonged to their own will.

His will had been so strong. He had been so determined, so beautifully resolute in his honest yearning. The many cold nights of prayers whispered to the Gods when the wind howled around his barely covered shoulders were so clear to him. When with numb shaking fingers and chattering teeth he begged the Gods for a spark of magic to conjure a sacred flame. No, not to heat his hands, but to warm something of far greater importance.

When she bluntly proposed marriage and lifelong commitment, he almost dared allow himself to believe the vivacious witch with the impudent smile was a gift. A sign that his sacrifice was accepted. Mercy had been granted. It was foolish and stupid, the desperate desire of a half starved man craving a sign that he had been judged and found worthy. It was shameful how he clung to hope. Repulsive, now that his belly was full and he could see his choice for what it was.

The witch had bestowed finery upon him, which clearly he never deserved. She tossed pearls before swine, and it felt like mockery. A big cosmic joke on poor piteous Snape. Somehow, from their otherworldly perches the Gods had looked down upon his pathetic tangled soul. They had seen his wretched attempts at penance, and had decided to take the mickey out of him. Perhaps they had sent her as a test. Hermione Granger, gift of the gods or test of his piety? If she were a gift, she wasn't a bloody good one and they were still having him on. Had the Gods bothered to ask him, he would have requested one with a sex drive, a desire for snaggle-toothed old blighters, and an insatiable need to please. She had to be a test. There could be no other reason for her to suggest he leave Azkaban. Absurdity. Such absurdity.

Did she not realize they'd be married? What that would mean?

No. Of course not. Hermione Granger was a silly self-absorbed chit with no sense of decency to leave a poor man to his blessed suffering. She was no more an instrument of the God's will than a purple purring pygmy puff. A weary sleep claimed him, and Severus resolved not to be bothered by her insolent fantasies again.

His heavy eyelids had barely drifted shut when he found himself in the queerest dream. Little Miss Hermione Granger, with curiously twinkling eyes he had never noticed before, bedecked in school robes, found him laying on his thin fetid cot, and bloodlessly unzipped his chest. Severus looked down, astonished. He wondered how it was he never knew a hidden chamber - not unlike Moody's prison-trunk - was down there. Before he could process this discovery further, the dentists' daughter hiked up her robes and descended the staircase inside his chest. Oddly, he didn't feel a thing, and he was quite certain it probably ought to hurt. Then she proceeded to rummage. In his mind's eye he could plainly see her fishing around, not that it surprised him because the insufferable chit always poked around where she was clearly unwelcome, and she came upon all manner of strange higgledy-piggledy objects that looked as though they belonged in the Headmaster's office. Then, as if she had no respect for him as a person, or indeed whatever whirling and chirping articles that had taken up residence within his chest cavity, she began randomly tossing them out. Not knowing how to stop the meddling girl, Severus could only lie back and allow her to work.

****

Hermione snaked through post-holiday shoppers in Muggle London. She was on a quest. Not nearly as bold or dangerous as Horcrux hunting, but just as satisfying on some small level. That, and braving Hamley's was never a challenge to undertake lightly. She was eager to make whatever amends she could and get back to normal life with Severus, or whatever it was they had. Given the circumstances, she was delighted they got on as well as they did, especially when she had approached him with a marriage contract purely from the standpoint of a business proposition, and not a real relationship. Then again, they did have history to build upon, and occasionally Hermione grimaced when it occurred to her that they got along like an old married couple. She briefly wondered what their relationship would be like when they did become an old married couple. Would she make the daily journey to Azkaban loaded with take-away curry when she was a thin and frail arthritic witch? Yes, probably so. But it was best not to dwell.

She had closed down the production line for the holidays and wouldn't resume until a week after the rapidly approaching New Year, so hypothetically, Hermione had all day to leisurely shop, if she were a leisurely shopper. Which she was not. Tracking down the silly toy, Hermione paid for it and quickly left. She would always be a Muggle-born, but Hermione hated large crowds. They made her feel suffocated and paranoid. Thankfully, her wizarding world was less densely populated. It was odd. Magical folk lived phenomenally longer than Muggles, they had a longer time span to conceive children, but their population was small in number, compared to Muggles. That defied logic. Except when she considered how many wizards and witches actually made it to their more seasoned years versus how many died painfully young. Unfortunately, Hermione knew of far too many who had never seen adulthood. And Pure-bloods considered Muggles violent? Statistically speaking, it seemed that wizards, armed at all times with a weapon at their fingertips were much more predisposed to acts of violence.

Hermione was contemplating acts of violence if she didn't get out of the mobs of bargain shoppers. She found a concealed public Apparition point, concentrated and arrived in the Leaky Cauldron's back garden. A few wand-taps and she was contentedly staring at the far quieter Diagon Alley, and breathing in a deep calming breath. She wasn't going to think about how ashamed she was by her relief to get away from Muggle London.

Her day was her own. Jake had ordered her to stop trying to play catch-up on reports while the office was closed, citing if she had a stress-induced aneurysm, he'd be out of a job. So she window-shopped, looking aimlessly at storefronts whose grand mystery had drawn her in as a wide-eyed child. Sadly, she wondered what had happened to that inspired innocent girl who couldn't wait to unlock all the dazzling mysteries of magic. Hermione snorted to herself; she probably had her spirit beaten out of her for asking too many questions. She winced. The thought cut too close to the truth, and just as painfully she realized that her dearly beloved husband was responsible for part of the self-conscious complex she carried about asking too many questions. Bastard.

The shop front of The Golden Needle, a Gentle-wizards clothier, caught her eye. She'd been in once before to help poor Ron find adequate formal dress robes - a tailored set that did not in any way, shape, or form resemble the grotty hand-me-downs he'd worn before. An animated mannequin strutted back and forth, showing off a particularly handsome set of robes. There was very little billow, but then _nobody_ billowed like Severus billowed. Severus was a blue-ribbon billower. But the robes had a bitty baby billow. They were perfect. New Year's was as good an excuse to purchase them as any, and according to superstition, one should always wear new clothes on the New Year, and... Did she need another excuse? They were gorgeous, and Severus would look undeniably fetching in them. Yes, she needed another excuse. It wasn't proper for her to buy him a set of formal robes simply because she wanted to see him dressed up. Ah well, Jake had loaded his Christmas gift box with the sort of items she had been giving to him regularly, so they weren't proper and fitting gifts. Nice gifts, obviously, as Jake rather fancied himself a Sloane Ranger, but none of them were an actual gift from her. The robes would be like a real gift. There, that was a good enough excuse as any to see her man in sexy well-cut robes.

Later that evening Hermione dropped by Azkaban with enough rotisserie chicken and sides to share with Severus and the boys.

Severus heard her the moment she set foot in the echoing corridor. As much as he despised interruptions, it was a sure bet that she'd bring food. He hadn't become so accustomed to her daily meals that he yet took them for granted. So he supposed he'd have to suffer her presence.

He snapped his new Smythson potion journal shut and stashed it beneath a pillow. The ink wasn't properly set, but the fine paper was dense enough, he doubted it would bleed. He still had not ascertained why the witch insisted on buying him the best, but at least now he knew it was probably Edwards, the bollocked-brained Hufflepuff spending the cash. He stretched, quill still in hand, and heard every vertebra in his back crack. He was an old miserable bastard who'd gone to seed far too early in life. His body reminded him of that fact constantly. If he didn't attend to his daily exercise regimen his muscles seized up and his joints cracked at the slightest movement. Long ago he had accepted this as the the destiny of a boot-licking Death Eater. At least he was vertical, which was more than he could say for the poor sods he had called brothers.

By the time Hermione was at his door, the quill was properly stowed, his robes were pulled straight as if he hadn't been idly lounging, and Severus was sitting ramrod straight wondering what was for dinner. His stomach asked the question as well.

Dinner was a quiet affair as Hermione was still a bit skittish around him, and Severus was thinking on his original potions he'd been transcribing from recollect. To keep his mind active he had spent a considerable amount of time inventing potions. His lab still existed inside his brain, intact and fully stocked. Though it was purely theoretical, he had the capability to imagine how they would develop. Severus was quite certain his wit hadn't been blunted to the point where he was unable to create brews, but he was also a realist. There was a distinct possibility that each one of his dreamed-up potions was a complete and utter flop, without research and a real lab at his disposal. Still, the journal had been a wonderful Christmas gift. He now had a proper place to record his wistful fantasies.

Hermione could sense he was gathering wool elsewhere and tried several times, unsuccessfully, to draw him into conversation. She even tried Ron's tasteless joke about the wizard riding the wrong end of his broom and playing on the other side of the Quidditch pitch. It went over like U-No-Poo in a punch bowl. Instantly she regretted it and chided herself for ever retelling any of Ron's god awful jokes. At least she had the good sense not to mention the one about the cock-eyed Veela with the speech impediment.

Once dinner was polished off, Hermione asked for his hand and dropped a large spiraled object into it. Severus sneered at the slightly cold metal and held up an end pinched between his fingers.

"What is this?"

"It's your Slinky. I told you, it's a child's toy." She knew for a fact that Severus Snape had spent his formative childhood years in Muggle England. The fact that something so common as a Slinky passed his attention was troubling. She supposed he had led a sheltered life. That probably explained much of his abysmal social skills.

An amused eyebrow arched at her statement. "Oh, yes, because I can see how a bit of coiled wire would provide hours of amusement to a child. What a crap toy."

Annoyed, but unruffled, Hermione grabbed the Slinky from Severus and showed him how it worked between her hands. "There's no tension in the spring. It responds to movement," she explained. She surveyed the cell and her eyes rested on the loaded bookshelf. Other than the growing number of white boxes stuffed on the bottom shelves, the top shelves were filled with pleasure reading and the occasional academic journal. She drew her wand and summoned the contents of a shelf. Severus raised an elegant eyebrow, but said nothing.

She preformed a hasty Transfiguration; it was one that would not pass muster under Professor McGonagall's sharp eye. The small steps she created against the cell wall still had their titles plainly visible, and the steps appeared to be made out of a wood grain that obviously resembled pages, but Hermione was satisfied. Hermione dropped the slinky at the top of the homemade stairs and nudged the coiled spring to flip over. Severus watched, transfixed as the softly tinkling metal rolled itself down the stairs.

"Can you imagine how that might look falling down a flight of stairs?" she asked, handing the toy back to Severus.

He nodded silently, tipping the responsive spring back and forth between his palms. It was fascinating. He desperately wished his joints would move so freely.

Hermione left him a few minutes later after re-shelving his books. After all, it was best to give the silly boy some peace while he marveled at his new toy.

* * *

A/N:

Chapter title: Peccavi : I have sinned.

Fortuna only ruled half of men's fate, the other half belonged to their own will. - Mangled quote from Machiavelli's The Prince

And now my dears, you should have a good idea as to what motivates dear Severus. I wanted to try my hand a redemption fic and was inspired by quotes by JKR that he is a redemptive figure, but it's not really something I've seen explored much in fanfic.

Special thanks to my beta Christev20 who nursed me through this chapter. And to MiaMadwyn for her helpful thoughts.

Love it? Hate it? Lemme know. I always appreciate concrit. Thanks for reading, AV


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 24 - Vita Contin Git. Vive Com Eo **

Severus lounged idly in his armchair, skimming through another Muggle classic. This one was little more than some bodice-ripping twaddle set against the French Revolution. In his mind's eye he could easily picture Lucius as the main protagonist, foppishly declaring 'Odds Fish!' and ensuring not a single strand of his perfect coiffure was out of place. The protagonist was a charitable sort, but only bothered himself to aid the distressed aristocracy. He completely ignored the plight of the hungry begging masses. That sounded about right for Lucius.

He paused every now and again to covertly glance at the set of dress robes lying on the bed, almost afraid to properly acknowledge their existence. Relations with Hermione had gotten considerably more comfortable, and he was certain that by her gift she intended to spend New Year's celebrating with him… he just wasn't certain that was the best course of action.

Her visits were becoming a monumental bother.

He was now absolutely convinced the Gods themselves were taking the mickey out of him by sending a fresh curvy witch to taunt him. She even smelled good. Never overly perfumed, or dusted with girly products, she just smelled... good. Normal. Divine. Which was a damned good thing because there was nothing worse than licking a woman's collarbone only to taste her perfume. Not that Hermione would allow such a thing. Of course not. She was much better than he and would never stoop to allow any licking of collarbones, much less soiling of loins.

The buck-toothed pudgy ugly-duckling had grown up and matured into a vivacious assertive witch that pushed all his buttons, and he was a man who had many buttons. Despite all that, Severus wanted her. He'd never wanked so much in all five years of his imprisonment as he had in the last few weeks. Not that it was saying much. He'd hardly bother to touch _'it'_, and was beginning to believe _'its'_ days were over. Packed up and retired to Majorca to die an obscure slow death. Now footsteps rattling in the hallway were cause for a twitch.

Pathetic.

And now dress robes and, no doubt, champagne were on the agenda for the evening.

Perfect.

As the sky lazily darkened, Severus threw down the novel and picked up the robes. Tasteful. Well-cut. Expensive. He felt the soft gabardine wool and wondered if it was a cashmere blend. The tactile fabric begged to be touched. He couldn't allow himself the fantasy that her generosity stemmed from a deeper desire to touch him and be touched by him. No. It had to be all her assistant's doing. Hermione would never permit him such liberties.

Later, a solitary clacking sound sent his heart hammering wildly beneath his breast. Severus' eyelids fluttered shut as he focused on the tinny quality of the sound. Heels. Definitely heels. Fantasies of strappy impractical Italian stilettos and cherry red painted toenails swam before his eyes before a soft knock returned him to his thrice damned existence.

Hermione had considerately taken to knocking when she was unaccompanied by a guard. Gone were the days of ugly barking orders and wands pressed against his jugular. After all, he was Hermione Granger-bringer-of-beer-and-pizza's husband.

"Severus?"

"I'd open the door for you, Vixen, but alas, that'd defeat the purpose of prison. However, please do come in."

The wards shimmered as the door swung open and Severus kept his eyes downcast, scanning the floor, anticipating the first reveal of some wickedly inappropriate four inch heels.

Severus bit the inside of his lip as she casually strode in, no doubt unaware of her affect. Hermione had the arches of a goddess; her delicate feet could turn any pampered Pure-blood princess utterly beastly with envy.

Her strappy black stilettos with a single rhinestone band across her clear painted toenails displayed her arches perfectly. They were not four inch come-fuck-me heels, but as his eyes traveled hungrily up her calves, they were enough. Severus eventually settled on her face and tried his best not to look like some malmsey-nosed simpleton.

Hermione quickly brushed through the door and shivered. Even though she'd only been briefly out in the near gale-force arctic winds, it had left her carefully pinned up curls all askew, her cheeks tinted in a bright flush, and her cold nose slightly dripping. She was hoping for a more stunning and dramatic entrance, rather than looking like some hard done street-wandering strumpet.

She shed her wool pea coat and straightened her black Muggle wrap dress. Hermione knew her hair was a sight without needing to examine a mirror, but let the tumbling mop of curls be. To properly fix the now haphazard chignon would take hours. Why bother, after all – she risked another round of character assassination from Severus if she appeared too vain.

Hastily flicking through her blue beaded cocktail bag, Hermione pulled forth two bottles of champagne and held them up proudly.

"I thought we'd celebrate the New Year in a bit of style."

Severus solemnly nodded his approval, his throat too dry to endeavor speech without sounding like an artless boy lusting after a pretty girl way out of his league.

"Do you think two bottles will be enough for us? I left the case with the boys, but I'm sure they won't mind if I nick another bottle off them."

Hermione turned her back to rummage again, this time for flutes while Severus stared at her calves, his brain befuddled by the way one knee was bent in a kick as she leaned over the bed. Did she bend that knee when soundly kissed?

"Ah!" Hermione exclaimed in triumph as she inspected two wrapped crystal flutes. "Why don't you see about uncorking one while I put the ticker up?"

Severus paused to watch her mutter an incantation and with a well-practiced swish and flick the GMT hovered in front of the wall in large bright green numbers.

Severus peeled back the foil and netting and tapped the cork with his index finger. An audible 'pop' filled the chamber and the cork bounced off the bookshelf. The bubbly managed to remain in the bottle.

"Severus! Was that - ?" She smiled brightly at his smug grin. "I didn't know you could do magic here!"

He bit back the involuntary instinct to grind his teeth as she reminded him of his near helpless state, and plastered an attempt at a charming smile on his face. For some reason he heard his mother's admonishments to _'be good, behave, be nice'_ ringing in his ears and remembered he _was_ trying to be charming. Civil even.

"Small things, Vixen, only small things. I can do only a handful of spells wandlessly, and there are dampening fields on this cell, but I've managed to learn a few tricks."

"Well, I'm impressed," she beamed. And she was. Maybe there was something to the flying rumors after all.

"Magic is like any other skill," he chuffed, "It withers with neglect and flourishes when nurtured."

"Well I'll drink to that," she replied, lifting her glass. "Here's to nurturing. Relationships, business ventures, magic, … everything. The world can always use a bit of nurturing."

"To nurturing," he echoed softly.

Severus took in the contented look that passed her features when the first tickle hit her palate. He needed to rein himself in, stop being so weak, and berated himself for having impure thoughts about his wife. Oh, irony of ironies.

"So, any resolutions this year?" he offhandedly asked, comfortably sliding into his armchair as Hermione lounged on the bed.

"I think," she tentatively began, "that this will be the year I finally let Hopper go. I've kept that sycophant on far too long. I am going to find a bigger warehouse for our operations… And I think I'm going to have another look at that time-turner research. I might have shelved that prematurely just because there hasn't been a known mechanicmancer living in the last two centuries. And you?" she asked with a note of trepidation in her voice. She wasn't sure if it was considered bad form to ask a man serving a life sentence what his plans for the future were.

Severus sighed. He was hoping for a normal evening. Something to eat, something to drink, hopefully a bit of stimulating conversation and good company, but all she wanted to talk about was work. All she ever wanted to talk about was work. It had become the crux of their relationship. Of course. Hermione was so blasted single-minded.

He could recite nearly verbatim the findings of the latest market research, the new contract negotiations with distributors - hell, Severus could describe in great detail last quarter's raw materials receipts, but he only had the vaguest idea about how she lived. Where she lived. If she still hung around those lip-strumming dolts Weasley and Potter.

When not talking in a clinical and detached way about work, Hermione was skittish like a kitten around him. She didn't trust him, not really. And that was most likely his fault. If he was ever to hope that she'd look at him as anything more than a threat, a curiosity, a Death Eater, or vile ex-professor, she needed to see him as a man. Maybe then she'd honestly open up to him.

Did it take another humbling confession on his part to earn her trust? Bear his soul to her scrutiny in the hopes that she might open up similarly? Would he have to rake his soul over the proverbial coals for her to stop viewing him as some sort of menacing threat? Possibly. No. Probably.

She was looking at him expectantly; he could plainly see the apprehension in her eyes. What was the question? Resolutions? No, that would never do. It would be wrong for him to confess he wanted her locked up in with him, and to never leave. That would sound odd. Needy and desperate… perhaps creepy too.

Severus cleared his throat and plucked the leatherbound Smythson journal from underneath his mattress and handed it to her. "I've been…" he said a bit hoarsely, "I've been composing potions in my head since I was a boy playing in my Mum's herb garden."

"Composing?" she interrupted.

From her school days she vividly recalled the way he captured their (okay, perhaps it was only 'her') imaginations with lyrical speeches on potion brewing, but since stepping into the world of industrial manufacturing, potions were: invented, created, originated, formulated, and occasionally discovered, but never composed.

He frowned, "Yes. I admit composing in one's head is not the best practice, but I am still a Master. I know exactly how components coalesce at different stages and how to coax a desired outcome."

Hermione began flipping through the journal, her fingers and eyes rapidly skimming his randomly jotted thoughts and quilled theories.

"What do you want me to do with this?"

"I was hoping you'd find something of value there. I suppose my New Year's resolution is to create a viable potion, even if in absentia." He waited patiently even though she couldn't see the subtle nervous shifting of his weight.

"This one looks promising," thoughtfully she tapped the outline for a skele-gro modification that targeted worn cartilage. "It's not the sort of thing we normally do, but it does have potential. I'll hand it off to Gibson and you can communicate via weekly progress reports."

"I wouldn't object to testing it out myself. I had my own back and knees in mind when I composed it."

Almost against his will, Severus allowed himself to be lulled into pleasant chatter on Granger Industries. It may have been a 'safe' neutral topic that he was coming to despise, but it was still good to watch her. Her eyes flashed when she seized onto a new idea, and narrowed in fury when he challenged her. Ruffling Hermione's pin feathers would never get old.

Oh, she was a delicate brew, this one. Any moment he could expect sparks, and he loved the roiling boil that heralded her magnificent explosions. Or she could collapse inward on herself, losing all her vibrant color, and congeal into a thick emotional sludge. Any first year knew which mess was harder to clean up.

Hermione pulled a few platters of nibbles from her deceptively small bag and asked Severus to repeat the nifty trick of popping the cork with a tap of his finger. Though she was already a bit buzzed Hermione felt entirely justified in opening the second bottle; it was simply good manners.

Her eyes already a bit wide and glassy, evidence of being just a hair's breadth on the left side of tipsy, she giggled. "In the immortal words of Minerva McGonagall," Hermione blushed, raising her glass, "Here's looking up your kilt."

Severus raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Then if I may propose the _Slytherin House Toast to Honor._"

"Honor? What rubbish."

"Madam, do you doubt the distinguished House of Slytherin's honor?"

"I most certainly do. I defy you to bring me a single honorable Slytherin. You know what? Don't bother. You can't; you'd have better luck finding one of Luna's mythical beasts. An honorable Slytherin is a contradiction in terms, one simply doesn't exist."

"Careful, Gryffindor," he sharply warned, "you find yourself in a serpent's lair. However, as I was saying," he said raising his wrist, "Here's to honor. To getting on her. Staying on her. And if you can't come in her, come on her."

Hermione snorted and giggled not even bothering to feign distaste or shocked sensibilities. "Alright, you win," she sucked in a breath, "apparently the Slytherin house does have some form of honor."

"I'll cherish those words," he replied dryly.

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A/N:

Chapter title: Vita Contin Git. Vive Com Eo - Life happens. Live with it

I'd like to credit the toast to honor, but I learned it in college and have no idea where it comes from. Kilt toast comes from my father.

Sweet thanks to the lovely Christev20 who gives so abundantly of her time.

Thank you for reading, please leave a review. -AV


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 25 - Amantes Sunt Amentes **

Much earlier than she expected or really hoped, the ticker counting down to the New Year reached the final minutes. Hermione stared at the glowing green numbers absently. To say the year had spun by quickly and almost without notice was perhaps a broad sweeping generalization, but in many ways, it had.

She riffled through her mental catalogue of achievements and nearly came up empty. In the prior twelve months she had launched three new inventions. Six more were in various stages of production. A further twenty-five were up and coming on the docket. She had made time to be at each of her friends' birthday celebrations and declined her own.

She had gotten married.

Married.

Her mind lurched and stalled, hitting an invisible barrier. The best thing she had to say about the outgoing year was she had gotten married. 'Till death do us part' and all that. The best thing she had to look forward to in the coming year was spending time with her husband.

Hermione glanced at Severus who'd come up behind her, awkwardly reaching for her shoulders and pulling her into his warm chest, as if he was uncertain she would rebuff his affections.

She didn't. The comfort felt good. Hermione leaned back and welcomed the feel of him, her eyes peering past the shifting numbers, not quite seeing them. Lying against Severus' chest was relaxing, and being in such close proximity to him she was able to thickly inhale his clean soapy herbal scent. His hammering heartbeat brought a small smile to her lips. This man was hers. As much as she belonged to him. Briefly, righteous feminist indignation rose to the forefront of her mind and she tampered it down.

_Ten._

Severus folded his arms around her chest, his fingers grazing her own.

_Nine._

Hermione closed her eyes, giving in to the sensation of being held. Of being warm, and wanted, and perhaps even loved.

_Eight._

Severus' cheek nuzzled her own. There was a faint rasping from some stubble, but his skin was rather smooth and softer than she imagined.

_Seven._

Blood pounded in her ears. Her heart thumped wildly beneath her breast, echoing the tattoo beat she could feel through their layers.

_Six._

Hermione let him turn her in his arms.

_Five._

Her arms intuitively wrapped around his waist.

_Four._

She stared intensely at the line of cloth buttons running up his chest. Every thought process and higher brain function seemed to have shut down in order to feel. All nerve endings in her body tingled and sparked to each nuance of his touch.

_Three._

His fingers tangled in her hair, reflexively massaging the knot at the base of her neck. Hermione fought the urge not to moan and failed miserably.

_Two._

She knew. He was going to kiss her and her breath hitched.

_One._

He didn't move.

She was about to voice her protest until her eyes glanced up to lock on to his own glittering black irises. Hermione was caught in his penetrating stare and offered her own wide-eyed acceptance in return. She'd berate herself and pretend it didn't happen later. _'Now'_ she silently ordered with her mind, willing him to know, _'Kiss me now.'_

Hermione heard his sharp inhalation of breath before his lips lightly touched hers, silently begging for permission. She felt a sweep of desire brush through her body as his moist lips suckled against her own. His mouth opened and she delicately traced his lower lip with her tongue; the contact was electric and she curled her fingers into his sides bunching the fine fabric, drawing him into her. Severus gently reciprocated, swirling her tongue with his, encouraging her response and savoring her champagne taste. His soft kiss left her breathlessly dizzy and humming soft sounds of satisfaction. The fingers massaging the back of her neck, angling her head to reach him sent the most arousing tingles down her spine to the apex of her thighs.

Her knees could not support her weight, but he held her boneless in his arms. Delirious, Hermione sighed her disapproval when Severus lifted his lips from hers.

She stood for a moment, still grasping his robes to regain her balance as the world refocused and slowly righted itself on its axle. She had kissed Severus Snape. Willingly.

She stepped away and tried to let her analytical brain reengage. Never mind the fact that it was the best damn kiss she could remember… ever. Ignoring that she wanted it. Forgetting the arousal that was still there, pooling in her belly. Pushing out of her mind the desire to do it again. She had kissed Severus Snape.

Hermione tried to make a face of distaste and couldn't. She settled on reproach and self-recrimination. Severus noticed the grimace immediately; hell, he expected it. It was history repeating itself. Lily Evans – Hermione Granger, it didn't matter; it was all the same story. The saga of a Muggle-born Gryffindor witch, a well trodden path to destruction. She would not love him either; she could not even bear his touch. This time he just hoped the girl would spare an ounce of compassion for his heart before she broke it.

"It's tradition," he soothed.

"Of course it is," she nodded numbly. The placating excuse could cover the kiss. It could not however cover her response, or the stomach clenching desire to kiss him again… No, the desire was to do more than just kiss the man. This was not what she signed up for. Definitely not the plan. She couldn't do this, couldn't let herself desire her ex-Professor.

How would she be able to face anyone again? How could she face him if he knew she wanted him? Oh, he'd tease her. Decades stretched before her, and she couldn't be married to a man who laughed at her weakness, laughed at her desire for him. He'd exploit that. No. That could not happen. Would not happen. She wouldn't give him the ammunition he needed to break her.

'It's tradition,' he had said. Just a tradition. The kiss meant nothing to him. He didn't really want her. And he'd likely mock her if she let on that she wanted him.

_'Shit,'_ she gulped to herself. _'Shit!'_

Panic was starting to set in as she drew breath faster, but shallower as if the air somehow lacked all oxygen. The tightness in her chest gripped her harder, causing her to pant as Hermione scrambled for her beaded purse.

It felt as if Death's icy fingers were clutching around her chest. _'No no no no no no no…'_ she repeated in her head, in her heart. It was wrong. Everything was wrong and tinged in gray. She clenched her teeth so they would not feel like shards of glass in her mouth as she rummaged deeper into the bag's recesses.

"Hermione?" Severus called out, anxiety tipping his rich voice. She swallowed thickly and ignored him. Allowing herself to pretend he cared for her was wrong. She was only duping herself by accepting his concern. Severus Snape cared for no one save himself.

"Where is it?" she hissed nearly sticking her face into the bag.

What was she thinking? Clearly she wasn't thinking. No, not about anything. She could feel Severus' presence as he shifted behind her. He was probably gloating. Had she not insisted that she would _Never-Ever_ touch him? The smug bastard had to have been greedily rubbing his hands together, plotting her ruin and ogling her backside as she recklessly tore through the damnable handbag.

Ron's words from long ago taunted her, _'Are you a witch or not?'_

Drawing her wand, Hermione aimed it at the blue bag and raggedly screamed, _"Accio physician's case!"_

With stiff troubled fingers Hermione wrenched the case open and quickly found the whiskey colored vial she so desperately sought. Somewhere, from the end of a long tunnel someone yelled at her not to drink the elixir. As she poured the golden relief down her throat Hermione didn't give a damn about the voice.

Her eyes closed tightly, shutting out all light; she knew when they reopened her world would have taken on a brilliant, slightly amber-ish hue, but for the suspended moment in time she wanted to hold on to the feel of the potion coursing through her veins. She just needed this bliss. The feeling of her bird-like heartbeat returning to normal. The beads of sweat now feeling cool against her skin instead of feeling clammy and burning up. The faint voice was raging, but she shrugged unconcerned. She'd deal with the voice later. Whenever. For the moment she felt woozier than the time she took up the Headmaster's offer of a lemon drop.

Severus clenched his wandhand intuitively, silently praying for self control. He had never once hexed a student, a feat alone that should have garnered him an Order of Merlin at the very least. He just didn't know if he could keep from strangling his wife.

He couldn't hit her. Severus swallowed knowing he couldn't touch the witch. If he laid an angry hand on her, he'd never stop. His fist connected with the god-damned calendar clock duo and it hit the floor violently. With little effort he kicked it across the cell again, smashing it against the wall. It wasn't enough. As Hermione looked on, her sleepy eyes half closed, Severus grabbed every book he could reach.

Distantly, she could hear the cell being destroyed. The loud noises made her jump a bit.

Prying fingers wrapped around her own and she fought for control of the now empty glass. Her eyes opened to stare into the enraged face of Snape, his uneven teeth directly in front of her, close enough that she could smell the hint of strawberries and alcohol. Vaguely she understood he'd been shouting. As her pupils warred between contracting and dilating, the distant shouting became clearer, sharper… damned bit louder too.

He seemed to be expecting some kind of answer from her. Not that she knew what the question was. Well, whatever the question was, it didn't matter.

"I don't answer to you, Snape," she replied blandly, feeling as if the statement quite appropriately applied to any question he posed.

"The hell you don't," he snarled. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Granger?"

"Stop shouting in my ear," she said dully. "It's so unnecessary, I'm right here."

"I'll shout wherever I god-damned want, you stupid fucking bint!"

"In which case it's probably best I leave then." Hermione scooped up the heavy physician's case and fumbled to replace it in the bag before Severus snatched it from her fingers. "Whatever," she rolled her eyes, "I'll get it later."

Her pea coat dragged across the floor, feeling like the wool was saturated in water as she wrestled with it. And damn that man if he didn't grab that from her too.

Hermione tried to glare at him in the eye… with the eye that was mostly open. He was still yelling. Perhaps a screaming tirade was a better description, as there were quite a lot of cuss words involved. Severus Snape appeared to favor the 'F-bomb.' He also spit when he shouted. It was oddly fascinating. When Hermione realized she was staring at his flying spittle, it slowly registered that staring was considered rude, and she came to the conclusion that she needed to make another stab at leaving.

The wizard had her case, her coat, and maybe her purse… it might have been someplace about… but she had her wand, which she leveled in what should have been a threatening way at his chest. His chest, which was really hard to get a lock on because of all the swaying he was doing, but it didn't matter; she was done for the evening. Or maybe she'd stop for a drink with the boys.

Hermione raised her voice shrilly to be heard over his growling shit-fit. "If you're quite finished, I'll be going now."

She turned rather too quickly, stumbling drunkenly, as she lurched for the exit. She was nearly there when his hands clamped down hard on her shoulders causing her to squeak.

"If you take another step towards that door, I'll really give you something to scream about."

There was something sinister about his tight clipped voice. The way it quietly dripped with venom cut through the dense fog surrounding her head, and she didn't doubt him. She swayed slightly, not trusting her own voice to give an acceptable reply. His hand grasped around her forearm and he tugged her back to the bed where she ungracefully sat dumbfounded.

For his part, Severus was desperately trying to remember why he wasn't allowed to kill her. There was some reason why he mustn't kill the Muggle-born witch, but he was damned if he could remember why. It certainly seemed like a good idea… if she didn't O.D. first.

His face thrust into hers as he knelt between her legs. Severus' concerned eyes flicked over the thick rivulets of sweat that were pouring like seawater down her brow. Hermione watched his lips moving trying to focus on them even though he was so close she felt her eyes crossing up. She smiled just a bit at his large dark cycloptic eye. What a funny looking man.

"Hermione," he badgered her over and over again, repeating her name until she gave an indication of paying attention. Her eyes were disturbingly glassy and fully dilated, her lips slackened and slightly parted. Her breathing had finally slowed down from the earlier panic, but now was so light her chest barely rose. He didn't like the sudden sickly pallor of her skin either.

As much as he wanted to beat her senseless, and rage at her foolishness, and scream obscenities all night long, and possibly plunge her head into a tub of ice water, he was honestly worried for her safety. Even with her full physician's kit at his disposal, there wasn't a single potion he could safely administer to her. The best he could do was wait it out and hope she didn't develop a fever.

"You silly girl," he whispered into her hair. "You can't mix alcohol with anti-depressants."

Hermione snickered.

He'd take it as a good sign.

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A/N:

This chapter is dedicated to the indestructible Snapes_Goddess. Give him hell babe.

Chapter title: Amantes Sunt Amentes - Lovers are lunatics

I must thank Christev20 for her awesome beta skills. If it weren't for her all of my sentences would end in prepositions.

Thank you for reading. Please be kind and leave a review. -AV


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 26 - Re Vera, Cara Mea, Mea Nil Refert**

"Oh dear God!" Hermione mumbled clamping her hand over her eyes to shut out the fricking light that spilled through the high window and right into her face. "Please, just kill me now."

Ugh, she had mornings after being hexed that were better than this.

"Later," a deep voice responded. "Sleep for now."

That sounded like dandy advice. Rather than dwell on it, Hermione rolled on her side into a warm masculine chest and wriggled herself into his shoulder. Charlie? No, Charlie was a blanket-hog who whistled as he snored. Whoever he was, he was a bit buff and held her nicely. Briefly she skimmed her fingers across his pale naked chest before he covered them with his own hand and her eyes closed.

Hermione tried to fight consciousness. She knew once she fully woke the enormity of her stupid idiotic foolishness would catch up with her. Severus would have her head on a pike. They'd probably mount it over the prison entryway, like in medieval times.

Every time her bladder or stomach threatened to wake her up Hermione insistently told her body to shut it. She didn't want to hear it.

Severus lifted a veil of matted curls from her cheek. "Stop pretending, Vixen, and get up," he growled. She was still nuzzled into his arm, which was the only part of his body that was asleep, but if she didn't get her ass up and soon, he was going to dump her from the bed, then use the loo right in front of her. Speaking for himself, he had no problem with nudity or taking a much needed piss in front of her, but he rather suspected she'd have objections.

Groggily Hermione mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like, "make me."

Even without being able to use his dead arm as leverage, Severus easily grabbed her waist, swiftly rolled her over his body, and softly tumbled her body to the floor.

"Right," he stood towering over her blanket wrapped form, "have it your way." Momentarily unconcerned for her welfare, given her prognosis that she'd live at least another day, Severus strode to the loo and began his morning ritual.

Hours earlier he'd been ready to force her head in the loo until her poisonous stomach contents presented themselves, but the potion was already in her bloodstream and she needed whatever paltry nutrients she'd ingested. At the time it seemed the sanest of his thoughts. Murdering his wife was also seriously contemplated. This morning, however, was a new day. The impudent chit had managed to survive the night with only a hangover to show for it, and he was composed enough not to lose his temper with the witch. That didn't mean she was in any way off the hook.

He would never begrudge her medication. If she needed a mood stabilizer to stay sane, or even, or whatever she was looking for, that was fine. The wizarding world was full of witches and wizards in need of potions to keep them from tipping over into madness. Severus often theorized that heavy inbreeding had caused Manic Depressive, among other disorders, to become a dominant gene within the wizarding population. It was a theory that went a long way to explaining the eccentricities for which his House was notorious. No, he'd not begrudge anyone the help they required, and he'd support Hermione in whatever way she needed. But this wasn't about medication. Her concentrated form of _Non Solum Noctus_ was dangerous. It wasn't the standard issue Apothecary dosage.

On the cold stone floor, even cocooned in blankets, Hermione wanted to sink like a ghost through the ground. If she died right then and there it might have only marginally eased her humiliation.

He watched her through the mirror as he shaved and was temporarily disturbed as she lay completely motionless, but figured the girl was still mortified by her monumental display of boil-brained stupidity. Which she should have been. 'Brightest witch of her age,' he huffed. It was probably true, which was a poor commentary on the intellectual acuity of her contemporaries.

Still dressed in dark blue pajama bottoms, Hermione clad only in his top, he poked her through the pile of sheets with his toe as if she were some stunned animal.

"Oh, get up!" he demanded. "Honestly, witch, the longer you put off the inevitable, the worse you'll make it for yourself. Now move!"

Hermione raised a bedraggled head, her curls so impossibly tangled into an ugly mess of pins, she wondered if she fell asleep with bubblegum in her mouth as well. Her face burned in shame as she got to her feet, only then becoming aware that she was not wearing what she thought she went to sleep in, not that she remembered being put to bed, but she refused to be cowed. Hermione steadily met his gaze.

He threw her a pair of his slippers. "Get cleaned up and come back," he ordered. To punctuate his command Severus held up her wand.

The cell door creaked open with a flick of his wrist.

She hadn't made a 'walk of shame' in years, but as Hermione trudged down the hallway towards the guests' and guard's loo she shivered, and it wasn't from the cold.

When she reemerged, Severus was dressed and standing implacably in the center of the cell looking every bit like the Potions Master of her youth as she remembered. Hermione still looked like some tossed out one night stand.

"Sit," he ordered, and was not mollified in the least when she complied, smoothing out a place for herself on the bed sheets.

He handed her back her clothing. Her charmed clean dress folded neatly atop her pea coat, her stockings and heels tucked into an oversized pocket. Hermione searched her memory for anything that would explain exactly how she got out of them and into his nightshirt, but could think of nothing. Somehow she didn't think they had fooled around together. He probably would have been in better spirits if they had.

"Now," he began his lecture formally as if addressing recalcitrant students, "You'll notice shortly that I've returned your physician's case to you. Before you bother, your anti-depressants are gone," he gestured languidly towards the sink.

"What. The. Fuck?" Hermione fumed, standing immediately.

"What the fuck indeed, Hermione," Snape replied evenly. "I'd ask what you were thinking, but it's obvious you weren't."

"Do you have any idea how expensive the ingredients alone are? How much time it takes to brew?"

"I'm well aware of the properties of _Non Solum Noctus._ Any N.E.W.T. level student is. Spare me the histrionics."

"But I bet you didn't know that the price of Horntail liver has gone up tenfold in the past year?"

"You have the money to afford it."

"That doesn't mean I waste it by pouring out good potions!" she railed, flinging her arms high above her head. "Nothing gave you the right to touch what's mine. I don't know why we keep having this conversation, Snape. First it was my business and now it's my personal life. I don't know how you were raised to believe that this is acceptable behavior, but it's not. Keep out, Snape!"

"I have every right, wife. What's yours is mine, that is generally how marriages work, or are you unable to comprehend the Ministry's edicts? I assumed you did have at least a moderate level of reading comprehension to understand it. Obviously my conclusions have been ill-founded. Thank you for disabusing me of that notion; I will endeavor to use smaller words from now on."

"Fuck you, Snape. You know damn well I can run circles around your intellect. Furthermore, I don't give a damn about Ministry edicts, and I'm not going to listen to a lecture on the law from a convict. Now if you don't mind, I'm leaving. It looks like I've got a potion to start, no small thanks to you."

He halted her with a strong grip on her forearm, "You cannot brew that toxic concoction; I forbid it!"

"I don't see how you can; I've got a legitimate prescription and a manufacturing license. Now let go of me."

"Hermione, don't make me repeat myself. You will not take that potion again. This is not up for discussion."

"You can't just demand such things from me. Once I leave this prison I can do whatever the hell I want, Snape, and you're just going to have to get used to that. I don't see why you care. One would think you'd be happy that I was treating myself for depression instead of wallowing in it."

"Of course I care!" he raged. "You'll put yourself into an early grave with that stuff. I expect you'll have full renal failure before you hit a hundred."

"Ah, now I understand. Where would that put you, with nobody to bring you books and dinner?"

"If you choose to view it that way, then yes. I do have a personal stake in your continued well being."

Her eyes flashed violently. He may have had her wand, but that couldn't last long, she could send him flying on his ass wandlessly if need be, but something in his dark unfathomable gaze held her back from doing anything dramatic. Snape was unpredictable at best, and the look of warning he'd given her a moment before was enough to proceed cautiously.

His eyes narrowed in silent contemplation before pivoting her body around and pushing her back down on the bed. He stood, taking pleasure in towering over the goat-stubborn girl with his most intimidating stare.

"Evidently I need to express myself more clearly, because you plainly don't understand the position you are in, Madam. I do not care what prescription you have. You took an anti-depressant for an anxiety attack. I do not care for whatever excuses you come up with to rationalize your lapse in judgment. I do not care to hear any justifications for your unacceptable behavior, nor do I need any reason why you take that addictive potion in the first place. You will cease immediately."

Hermione shook her head violently. She was willing to compromise on many things for the sake of the peace of her marriage, but she would not stand for her so-called husband to dictate her life and welfare to her.

"Liquid Sunshine is non-addictive and you know it, Snape. When I leave here I'm going to brew my potion and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me, so just get over that."

Severus sighed deeply; he knew fighting with the pigheaded witch was like chasing a snitch in a rainstorm. Just when you think you have accomplished your objective, she slips out of your fingers, bound and determined to do as she pleased. He dropped ungracefully into his armchair, bone-weary and near exhausted from the night's ordeal. Keeping a constant vigil had taken its toll; after all, it had been years since he last involved himself in such nonsense.

Couldn't she see that he was trying to be rational, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn't actually killed her yet? Hermione was supposed to be a logical girl. Arguments with her were supposed to be won with sound reason; she wasn't foolish. Impertinent yes, foolish no. He simply needed to state his case reasonably. 'I'm angry. This is why. This is what you've done. This is what you should have done. This is what my expectations are from now on. These are the consequences.' So why was she being so damned obstinate?

"Your Liquid Sunshine is habit-forming. Dependency is the same as addiction, my dear, and the strength of your brew is reason enough for me to suspect you're a long time user."

"I am not an addict!" she indignantly screeched, reaching for her clothing.

"Fine," he conceded half-heartedly. "But you're abusing it just the same. Last night you had a panic attack, not a depressive episode. Can you honestly justify this? Your mistake could have been lethal."

"I was angry and I was drunk!" Hermione announced. "I made a bad decision. I won't do it again. End of story."

"Exactly! You were drunk. What happens the next time you get drunk? Or angry? Or panicky? Or don't get your way? That potion is meant for someone suffering from such debilitating depression that they can't function." He peered at her thoughtfully, and under other circumstances Hermione thought he might actually care about her.

"Are you really that depressed?" he asked softly.

"I…" she sputtered. Nobody knew about the Liquid Sunshine, and she certainly wasn't prepared to answer for it. She sighed loudly. She'd been that depressed. Had days where she was at the end of her rope, and hanging from it had seemed like a good option.

Her assistant, Jake Edwards had found her a Muggle psychologist, but who had the time for such things? Besides, even without mentioning magic, she couldn't talk to him about her problems. He snooped too much into her personal life, which was probably what he was paid to do, but it rankled just the same.

"I…" she tried again, before giving up.

Severus watched her shoulders slump with genuine concern.

"Do you still feel that way?" he prodded gently.

Hermione's head shot up and she glared at him. Severus Snape had no right to pry. He would never be her confessor. If they started playing this game, he'd expect her to answer to him. And then she might as well have found herself a 'real' husband.

"Do you?" he demanded, sensing her changing emotion. "Because I'd like fair warning if my wife is a miserable head case."

_Damn_, she swore to herself. There was no way to answer that safely. If she said she was still depressed, she was admitting to being a 'miserable head case,' if she said No, he was perfectly justified in insisting that she give up her potion.

Hermione gave herself a moment to clear her head and breathe. Was she still severely depressed? When was the last time she felt like sticking her head in the oven? Or having a potions accident? When was the last time she woke up at the sparrow's ass crack of dawn, but didn't want to to leave the bed… ever?

She swallowed thickly. It was before Severus. Before his help with the business. Back when she had to sit miserably alone in restaurants, or eat dinner in front of the telly, or not at all. Back when she was so alone she irrationally wanted to curse Crooks for being a companion, but one who was unable to hold a decent conversation.

Reminders of the near constant despair she felt came rushing back. It wasn't a dark period of her life; it was the simple reality of being her and feeling so fucking inadequate. The abject loneliness of being so miserably alone when surrounded by people, by friends who couldn't warm the cool dead place beneath her breastbone. The time she stupidly hacked and chopped her horrid hair into a pixie cut just because she had to change, hoping that with a new look something about her would be better, improved, and different. That a stupid fucking haircut could somehow make everything better. Back when she needed the happy little bottle to make the world feel a worthwhile place to inhabit.

Measurable success had gone a long way to beat back the demons whispering that she was somehow lacking, that everyone knew she was a failure but hadn't the heart to tell her because they pitied her. Having time to catch her breath and eat sensibly helped, too. But most of all not being so fucking alone all the time made the demons stop taunting her in a remarkably Molly Weasleyesque voice that she'd always be alone and unloved. They still whispered to her, but not like before.

Not that she wasn't still alone in her own way. Or that Severus loved her.

But she wasn't as dependent on the drugs to keep her from being a complete wretch anymore.

"I may not need the potion as much as I once did, but I refuse to give up a perfectly legitimate prescription just because you have the audacity to demand it. And I resent the implication that I'm some potion popper."

Severus was quiet for quite a while as he studied her face. She didn't like the way his fingers were pursed together or the dangerous sickle glint in his eyes. It made her rather feel like prey.

"If you refuse to see reason then I believe we have come to an impasse. I'm afraid I can't abide by a wife who rejects the will of her husband, considering I only have your best interests at heart. I shall be owling the Ministry forthwith and have our marriage annulled."

"Our marriage can't be annulled, Severus. I'm sorry to break it to you, but you're stuck with me," Hermione said blandly.

"Oh," he asked with an arched eyebrow. "So you'd like to consummate the marriage now?"

He left that statement dangling in the air and showed no trace of emotion as her eyes widened.

He wasn't goading her into taking a roll in his bed; they both knew without a doubt that he would be unable to consummate the marriage. The same prison regulations that prohibited him from physically penetrating her could be used against her if he lodged a complaint with the Ministry.

Their wedding ceremony kiss was symbolic and enough to satisfy the contract. There was no requirement to hoist bloody sheets out windows or prove that consummation had even taken place. _They were English, for God's sake!_

Aside from which, the Ministry wasn't exactly following up on each and every marriage, not when hundreds of new couples were running to the altar. The Ministry didn't have the resources to provide national owl service or regulate Portkeys, much less offer child care for the hordes of rug-rats produced from the law. The very idea that the sub-department on Magical Marital Relations had the capability to sit around watching and tabulating every time a wizard chose to allow his witch to warm his bed was both perverted and ludicrous. If the Ministry started keeping a record of every time a wizard touched a witch, there wouldn't be any parchment left in all of Great Britain.

Most Ministry officials would be dumbfounded to realize that inmates were not allowed the _'privilege'_ of conjugal relations; not even the Ministry stooge sent to witness their joining had any idea, and he was from that department. Then again, the laws, by-laws, and blue-laws constituting both wizarding marriages and incarceration were numerous enough to give anyone fits. Positively no one was anal-retentive enough to familiarize themselves with such things. Well, excluding present company of course.

Hermione was safe. Who was she? One witch in a sea of witches. No one would ever suspect her coup or know she had beaten them at their own game.

Unless Severus Snape opened his damn mouth.

"Sweet Nimue, Hermione, if you have to think on it we'll be here all day!" Severus scowled. "It will only take one word for my lips and this joke you've constructed at the Ministry's expense will be over. I doubt very much they'll take kindly to you making a mockery of their new law. They seem to be very proud of it."

"Smugly so," she whispered absently. Her mind seemed to have relocated thousands of miles away from her body. As the present returned to her she wondered if that was the sensation she'd feel when the Dementors came to kiss her.

She wanted to ask him what he wanted. His bribe. His blackmail. But she already knew. The _Non Solum Noctus_, Liquid Sunshine. Once upon a time it had seemed like her life line. She'd been brewing it herself since fifth year to keep up with the boys. To keep from feeling inadequate while surrounded by Lavender and Parvati. To feel like half trained children actually had a chance to beat the most powerful and magically gifted Dark Wizard in a century. To keep from crying at night in Charlie's bed. To keep from feeling like a useless Mudblood.

Each year seemed to require a stronger brew. Bigger doses. More Horntail liver. And yet, she hadn't taken a single dose in the past six weeks.

"I'll try," Hermione enunciated clearly. "But this is it. You don't get to hang this over my head every time we disagree about something. If you threaten to go to the Ministry again, we'll go back to the strict interpretation of the marriage contract. I'll come by your cell twice a week for an hour. No more, no less. No extras. No perks."

Severus quietly agreed.

* * *

A/N:

Chapter title: Re Vera, Cara Mea, Mea Nil Refert - Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn

No evil cliffie in ths chapter, just the promise that next chapter contains something many of you have been asking for since Ch 2.

The lovely and gifted Christev20 has poured her formidable talent into making this and every chapter legible. _Thank you_

Please be a love and leave a review. -AV


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 27 - In Puris Naturalibus **

She had a headache. It was a slight twinge that raced up the column of her neck and bloomed across the back of her head. It was born of distributor requests, lack of caffeine, and poor posture. So why was she looking at her Liquid Sunshine instead of her headache solution?

Swearing fiercely, Hermione unwarded an office cabinet and delicately placed the last of her supply of Liquid Sunshine away. If Severus thought he had poured all of her potion down the drain, he thought wrong. With glaring clarity she realized how overstocked her home and office was with the amber colored salvation. He was right. She hated him for it, but he was right.

This couldn't be healthy. Wanted. Desired. But not healthy. Probably not. Still, she couldn't bring herself to pour them out. After all, they were really frickin' expensive and Hermione hated wasting good galleons.

It couldn't possibly be withdrawal. No, certainly not. That would mean she had formed some type of dependence on the drug. That would mean Severus had been right. No, she couldn't allow him the satisfaction of gloating.

'Life with Snape' hadn't returned entirely to normal since their last blow up. Relations were stilted, and she was prone to prattle on and on about work to avoid real conversation, but they were at least on friendly terms. _Friendly terms_ being a relative expression.

She still hadn't forgiven him completely for dumping her Liquid Sunshine. Or the bigger issue - prying into her life. But they were both making concessions with each other, which, according to the self-help relationship book she'd been reading, was perfectly healthy and normal for any new marriage. The experts said that they both had to set boundaries, clearly communicate expectations, and be willing to compromise. Advice was easy for experts to give, but in practical exercise… with Severus Snape... _Pfift!_ What did experts know?

When she arrived at the prison, Hermione counted the doors to her right and left in the cell block as she made her way towards his door. Her own hollow footsteps echoing loudly off of the stone walls didn't help the creepy feeling that tickled her spine. Ever since learning what was warehoused behind each cell door, she knew she wasn't alone. The empty lurking presence of soul-sucked bodies were what nightmares and boggarts were made of. Hermione tightened her claw-like hold on Severus' birthday meal as she held her chin up high and tried not to think… no, not to think, of who… no, what, was behind each door.

There had to be hundreds of them. Nameless faceless Ministry victims. Processed for justice and the Ministry's combating-terrorism campaign. True, crime was down. Knockturn Alley was the new posh shopping district, but this…?

This had to be a crime in itself.

And Severus?

Should be on his knees in indebted prayer, thanking God for his merciful blessing. He had to be one of the only wizards who received a trial. A media circus of a show trial, but at least it was justice before the Wizengamot instead of a Ministerial Decree from the 'Ad-hoc Special Inquiry of the Sub-department on Practitioners of Illicit Magic.'

Pausing right before Severus' door, Hermione politely knocked. This time. Not that she might not sneak up to his door for a peek next time. There was a distinct level of satisfaction that came from sneaking up to his open jailer's slot for a little look-see, but that required wearing soft trainers and not loudly clacking heels. Then again, there was also the potential she'd catch him taking time out for a 'personal moment,' and that was something she was certain she didn't want to see.

He tiredly called for her entry and Hermione tapped his code into the door frame for admission. She'd been given the password into his cell long ago by the boys - not that they minded escorting her, but rather they let her come and go as she pleased. Which was really fine with them as long as she continued to ply them with goodies and stop every now and then to inquire about how they were getting on. That, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that his password was the same as his prisoner number. Idiots.

With a mischievous smirk Hermione budged open the door and held her arms up to show a large paper bag emitting heavenly smells. "Special delivery for the birthday boy!"

"Madam, if you dare ever refer to me as the birthday boy again, I'll put you over my knee and you certainly won't like it. I assure you, I am all man. Feel free to give it a squeeze if you have any doubt."

"Such drama, Severus," she responded, rolling her eyes. Not that she didn't color up satisfactorily.

The special birthday meal for the special birthday man was obligingly devoured by both, and Hermione drew out pints of slightly melting ice cream for dessert. True birthday cake would have been a bitch to pick up en route, and really would have taken actual planning, and time she didn't have.

"No," he chided, bringing her attention back to the serious matter at hand. "If ice cream were meant to have chunks it would be named ice chunky. As it is named ice cream, it is meant to be creamy. To throw chunks into the confection is an insult to all self respecting ice creameries out there."

"Wrong answer."

Severus' head shot up as she made an odd noise like some kind of buzzer, but then she was prone to oddities.

"Ice cream," she stated confidently, pausing only to lick at her dribbling spoon "Is named for its content, not its consistency. It is iced cream, but then adding flavorings to the so-named cream does not change what it is any more than different cores change the essence of a wand. This isn't potionry, you know."

Severus sharply angled an accusatory spoon towards her, "Ah, therein lays the fallacy of your argument. Different cores dramatically change the nature of wands. There is a hierarchy inherent to wands. Have you not noticed that most idiot Hufflepuffs carry common unicorn hairs? The sort anyone walking about a forest could find lying about? Or picked up on Slytherin's tendency to much superior dragon heartstrings? Surely you've not forgotten the wand Potter carries? Or its mate? In which case I must reassert the hierarchy of ice cream. Chunks are for fools and charlatans; it is the Hufflepuff of ice creams. Clearly creamy ice cream is for those with refined palates." For good measure Severus had a heaping spoonful to add credence to his argument.

"Fine! Bad analogy. Excuse me. If that's how you really feel about it I'll only bring you vanilla from now on, as it is obviously the 'purest' of all the creamy ice creams. Only, that would mean no more mint chocolate chip."

The icy glare he shot her was enough to make her spoon pause in mid-air.

"What?" she countered obnoxiously. "It has chunks."

"The chocolate shavings in mint chocolate chip are observably not real chunks, as they do not hinder the smooth quality of the ice cream. Clearly mint chocolate chip is a superior ice cream. Not like that… that…"

"Chunky Monkey."

Severus shook his head before quietly muttering, "Even the name is low brow."

"Low brow? Perhaps. Here's an idea for you Severus, if you detest chunky ice cream so much. Why don't you get a bunch of creamy ice cream friends together and you can gang up on all the low brow chunky ice cream eaters? Then you can purify the world, and everyone will be convinced of your ice cream supremacy."

She inspected him with dispassionate eyes as his chin dropped to hide the humiliation burning in his cheeks.

Severus didn't want to play anymore. The fun banter had seemed almost like flirting until she, he, one of them, had cocked it all up and brought up _that._ Hermione had no idea how vulnerable he was, that with a few stray careless comments the festering sore was torn wide open. He thought it might have been healing, the fibers knitting back together as the nightmares had started disappearing. He no longer saw dead blue eyes staring him down, empty and lifeless except for a hint of accusation before they fell. Endlessly fell. The accusation in them gripping him by his neck until he woke himself screaming.

He felt himself balling up inside. Preparing for winter. He could go days, weeks, even years without the warmth of life in his veins.

Hermione watched as the smallest orphan tear begin to well up in the corner of his eye. It was from dust motes in the air. Obviously she had been remiss in keeping up with all the household charms and cleaning. Absolutely. Without a doubt.

An ugly garish cup was forced under his nose and Severus nearly crossed his eyes to see it before pitching his head back.

"Try it."

"I said, _'Try it!'_"

She paused while he examined the contents. His eyes critically cataloging the sweet like a Potions Master. "Damn it! Just try the fucking stuff and then you can tell me how nasty it is."

Watching his non-reaction Hermione felt a small sense of panic. His curtains were drawn, the shutters firmly latched. Reaching in with her spoon she swirled it in the sticky sweet cream and held it to his lips. They parted and as he savored it and she watched his eyes darting back and forth beneath his thin eyelids.

"The banana is too sugary," he mumbled, turning the ice cream around in his mouth.

"And?"

Sitting forward so close that she was nearly sitting in his lap Hermione could hear the crunch from his jaw as he worked the bits of walnut and dark chocolate.

"The crunch creates a nice contrast to the smooth. I like that the chocolate is slightly bitter." He opened his eyes to the vision of his Hermione, her smile spilling warmth back into his veins. There wasn't a trace of malice in her eyes. No accusation in their honeyed brown flecks. Just eternal spring. The call for life to return to the earth. And he felt himself waking up.

"So the chunks are okay?" She asked fidgeting with a loose curl.

"The chunks are the best part," he affirmed.

Digging her spoon in his abandoned cup Hermione noisily slurped a bite of his ice cream before pronouncing it good, too.

She left him shortly thereafter with sticky lips and a satisfied belly. And something more… a promise. He couldn't put his finger on just what that promise was, but it was warm and spread through his body like love.

Severus slept heavily. The biological response to carbohydrates and a sugar crash, but his dreams were peaceful. The well earned rest of the sick and healing.

When he awoke the pink light of dawn cast a faint glow on his cell. He found himself curled up with the robes he hadn't removed bunched around his shoulders, but otherwise no worse for wear. He closed his eyes again, blotting out the first rays of what was inevitably bound to be a glorious day. Somewhere, thousands of miles away, millions of people, wizard and Muggle alike, would wake to this morning. Some would discount the blessing of the day with barely a nod in Helios' direction as the mindless masses trudged to a bleak and colorless office. Some would see the sky, marvel at the beauty of life, and stretch like a flower towards it. He wondered how his Hermione would greet the day. He knew for a fact that her schedule was packed, and she would barely have a moment to spare for herself. But she was not among the drab and dreary caught in the cogs of man's infernal machines. Out there, she might breathe in deeply between meetings and conference calls (he still had not gotten a clear picture of what one was), and she would take a moment to thank the Gods for nourishing the world again.

Hermione.

His sunshine days and diamond-sparkling nights were spent with Hermione. He still didn't know if she was a gift or a test. The Gods were rarely forgiving or merciful, but if he had found their favor, surely she belonged to him.

Beneath his lids Severus concentrated on the sounds of Azkaban. Rarely was there ever any real noise in the prison, and when there was it sounded overly loud and rang like lightning claps on the ears. But the ancient fortress had a distinct cadence. The wind never ceased in its assault, as if it were offended by the free-standing object in its flat playground. He could always count on the sound of the water to lull him to sleep. On peaceful days it lapped at the structure, tickling its sides and accepting its presence. When the sea was fierce with anger and the wind wanted to play rough, Azkaban was pitched between the two. The water battered the rock face in a fit of temper that it could not capsize the prison as it could so easily toss about unfortunate ships.

His ears picked up on the gentle waves. He couldn't hear any shuffling in the distance which was often Mulciber, Strathmore, and Cooley, his guards, rumbling about in the checkpoint area. He would never deign to refer to them as _the boys._ They were not his friends, nor would they ever be.

It appeared, for the moment, that he was entirely alone. Severus cracked an eye and peered speculatively at the door. Making up his mind, he bolted upright with the skill and ease of a man accustomed to waking thusly. His sleep-wrinkled robes were thrown in the hamper Hermione had provided. Severus doffed the rest of his clothing and added them to the dirty pile. Soon he'd have to remind the witch he was running out of changes of clean clothing. A novel thought, considering he had spent nearly five years in the same grubby and threadbare set of robes. He toed off his slippers and hastily jumped on top of his bed covers, one eye still suspiciously on the cell door. He wasn't certain if he'd be pleased or mortified if Hermione caught him.

Severus snaked his hand down to his cock and stroked it a bit. Lazily his eyes closed again as his well practiced touch coaxed an arousal. He pinched and teased the head a little, loving the rasp of friction on his most sensitive spot. His fingers laced around his thickening cock, plying it to attention with a small amount of wrist action to touch every inch.

Severus palmed his hardened member, sliding flesh against flesh and caressing the engorged mushroom head. He knew at any given minute she could catch him. He imagined Hermione tiptoeing up to his cell door in her grubby trainers and watching him through the jailer's slot. His eyes rolled back in his head...

_Hermione's eyes went wide and her mouth made a slack jawed 'O' to see her stoic husband give in to the needs of his flesh. With growing hunger, she watched him cupping his balls, rolling them slightly around as he corkscrewed his fist across his shaft._

_Watching him masturbate caused a wonderful flush to bloom across her pretty face and Hermione wantonly walked into his cell and dropped to her knees. Approaching him with a predatory smirk, she traded his calloused hand for her pink tongue. Her technique was unpracticed, but oh, so enthusiastic. She gave every blessed inch her careful attention before engulfing him in her cavernous mouth. Her lips wrapped tightly around him as her cheeks hollowed, Hermione applied her tongue to lathe him as she bobbed up and down on his cock. The greedy little cocksucker occasionally moaned as her fingers dipped into her knickers to relieve her slickly coated nubbin. The perfume of her arousal brought Severus' eyes fluttering open to stare at his goddess. He allowed his hand to rest gently on her head for a moment, guiding her to take him fully, before pulling her up alongside his body to join him on their bed._

_She was conveniently wearing a skirt, the naughty little Vixen. Severus hiked the garment around her waist and pull her soaked knickers around her ankles. Breathing heavily from anticipation, Hermione watched his movements with rapt attention, arching her back and begging him with her undulating body to satisfy her need. Sitting back on his heels, Severus fisted his erection a few times, letting her watch the show she had begged to be a part of, letting her watch the salty precum bead at the tip. Her arms reached out to him as Hermione struggled against her body's insatiable need for contact and he surprised her by dropping his head to taste her molten flesh. Hermione's quim was succulent and rich with her musky essences, and it had been so damn long since he had the pleasure of feasting on a juicy pussy. Severus bathed her with his talented tongue, licking her pretty little pussy and teasing her pulsing clit. Hermione cried out and raked her nails sharply against his scalp. She thrashed beneath him as he nuzzled her flesh and fucked her with his tongue. Hermione sobbed how wonderful he was. Shrieked what an amazing sex god he was. She whispered to him how much she fucking loved him. And cried how much she desperately needed his heavy cock deep within her as she shattered. His witch needed him._

_Hermione's arms moved down his shoulders, gripping his forearms to drag him up her body as she panted and recovered from her explosive orgasm, but seeing his throbbing erection made her hungry again. And she begged so prettily, he could afford to be generous and give the squirming girl what she wanted. Hermione pulled his neck down, shoving her tongue between his teeth seeking out her juices while one small hand reached between them. She petted him a few rough times out of her own need to feel the cock she worshipped before placing him at her entrance. Her arms went around his backside pressing her nails into the only part of his flesh that was soft and leaving tiny nail marks._

_"Please," Hermione hoarsely pleaded. "I need you within me Severus." It was the slight trickle of tears from her eyes that was his undoing as he obliged his love and drove into her hot channel._

That was all the inspiration Severus needed to come. His thick salty essences coated his palm and shot across his belly.

Hermione was not at the jailer's slot watching. And dear gods, with his luck it would be Strathmore out there painting the door with his spunk. Life was patently unfair. With a grimace Severus muttered '_Accio bog paper,_' the one wandless spell he had mastered quite well in the dank gilded cell, and cleaned himself off. Perhaps it was best she hadn't seen him with his trousers down. She'd probably never return.

* * *

A/N:

Chapter title: In Puris Naturalibus - Completely naked

This smutty chapter is dedicated to Miamadwyn, who has absolutely no sympathy for the injuries I've suffered, because I kinda like her abuse.

Special thanks to AnnieTalbot and Christev20 for the formatting issues. Ya'll rock.


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 28 - Malum Quidem Nullum Esse Sine Aliquo Bono**

Severus sat in contemplative silence, wasting a perfectly good scowl on the paperwork spread out before him. Hermione's charmed window kept out the yowling wind brought in by a heavy storm, but he could breathe in whole big lungfulls of salt-scented air. With a muttered expletive he threw his quill down and cobbled together the folders, throwing them down on the floor for another time. He now hated her distributors as much as she did.

Bored, Severus scanned the remains of the previous night's takeout Thai food. There had been plenty of it, given that 'the boys' refused to even taste it. Philistines. The first spoonful of Tom Khar Kai, or spicy chicken soup in coconut milk, had been a seminal moment in his life, and Severus wondered how he'd lived without it before. The foamy pink noodle dish… not so much. He had made a motion to rename it mee-crap, but Hermione was not amused and was unwilling to second the motion.

Strangely, Thai food came with a Chinese Fortune Cookie, not that she seemed surprised, but Severus was disinclined to dispute the flaw in that logic. His fortune had read,_'You will find yourself on a long journey.'_ Claptrap like that called into question the honor of ancient Chinese wisdom and whether 2, 8, 11, 13, 24, 26, and 35 really were his lucky numbers.

Hermione had giggled in a most unbecoming manner and revealed her secret destiny was to _'Meet new and exciting people in bed_.'

Severus had quickly proposed a trade. Obviously he had gotten the raw end of the deal. Not that there was any surprise in that. And to add insult to injury the hardtack cookie was both completely unpalatable and a chore to swallow. How typical.

Her girlish giggle was the only time Hermione laughed, much less seemed to relax.

To say relations were strained between them was like saying Fluffy was just a dog. And Hermione hadn't stayed long after dinner. He knew repairing the damage done to their tenuous relationship would be slow going and much more difficult than the falling out they had when he first edited her reports, but Severus was a patient man. He could wait her out as long as necessary. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do. And getting her off the Liquid Sunshine would do a lot to further his aim.

A smile tugged at his lips as he wickedly envisioned the polar ice cap of indifference around her heart melting. Her sex drive returning. He smirked. A happy, healthy, and naturally passionate Hermione would be a much better Hermione for everyone concerned. 'Everyone concerned' namely being him. Damn anyone else.

He shook his head hoping that such romantic sounding thoughts would somehow tumble out from between his ears. All he could do was be patient and give her time to adjust. Though the very idea that he was being this kind and considerate towards a witch he wasn't even bedding made his lips curl. Every day made him more and more amazed by how wrapped up in little Hermione Granger's world he'd become. If Albus were alive he'd be as happy as the day he'd discovered something called a ring pop.

Granger had been a student just like any other. She wasn't likely to melt a cauldron or blow up the lab, and under those circumstances she should not have garnered much of a second glance. She should have been another faceless name on an attendance sheet. But she wasn't. Had never been, if only because of the company she'd kept, and the fact that she was disturbingly talkative in class. And annoyingly correct. But still, she was Granger, first row, third seat from the left, Outstanding, graduating class of 1998. She shouldn't have been anything more than that to him. Or at least she hadn't been. Shouldn't be.

And yet she was. Every day he stared at the same four walls, and yet they were so disturbingly different from the same four walls they'd been just a few scant months ago, that somehow every fucking thing about his life was so different he wondered what the hell had happened to cause all of this. Granger should have been a named storm. She invaded and upset everything, from his stacks of luxury comfort items, to his absurdly high thread count bedsheets, to the work that shaped his life and gave meaning to it…

It wasn't the work. Severus frowned and repeated the thought back in his mind. It had never been about the work. How the hell had Hermione-Biggest-Swot-on-Earth-Granger given a meaning and real sense of purpose to his life? That was disturbing. He'd always been of the firm conviction that neither a person's self-worth nor existence should ever be tied up in another. Such relationships were unhealthy and unequal. Well, nothing about his relationship with Hermione was equal. If he had to term it anything, it would be co-dependent.

With a deep mental sigh Severus closed his eyes and began to meditate. Fucked up dysfunctional relationships were familiar ground. He had a whole lifetime's worth of experience with them. He could deal with this. He could deal with his persistent and invading wife.

Heavy shuffling footsteps in the hollow corridor immediately snapped his attention to a guard's presence. It was most definitely not his Hermione. She favored practical flats that she could slip off immediately so she could put her perpetually ice-cold feet into his bed covers. They produced a light tapping sound. When she wanted to sneak up on him unawares and stare at him through the jailer's slot, she wore trainers. _Vixen._

Severus slid his eyes to the door frame as the footsteps halted just outside his door. A pair of watery blue eyes heavily framed by dark curled lashes peered through the slot. Without seeing the rest of his blunt features, Severus noted Mulciber's eyes were downright feminine.

"Uh… Professor?"

He allowed his lips to curdle in disgust. When he wasn't Prisoner 11652 he was the Professor. Severus wasn't sure he knew which title he loathed more.

"I, uh, brought your book back," Mulciber stuttered as he entered the cell. "You were right, I did like this one."

Severus wasn't as hard up for company as he once was before Hermione had entered his life, but he wasn't going to turn down the opportunity for a delightful chit-chat. He scowled to himself, Minerva would have loved that. The old biddy had spent years trying to warm up his spirits by being his friend. She had been operating under the mistaken assumption that Severus was in need of a friend, or a hug, or a cup of tea to make all the hurts and ills of his life melt away. Perhaps she thought they'd settle into a routine and trade stories and gossip like the other hens. It had taken quite a long time before Severus was able to disabuse her of that notion, and while he was perfectly content to sip her tea and eat all of her chocolate digestives, he was in no way her friend. Nor would he ever be. Gryffindors were always so stubbornly pig headed when they saw an underdog to champion that they never bothered to ask whether their help was wanted. They were nearly as bad as Hufflepuffs. Though he had cultivated his relationship with Pomona, because she cultivated his herbs. It would never do to piss off that witch, not when she could so easily plot something so nefarious as switching his Queen Anne's Lace with Water Hemlock. Not that the mud smeared witch would ever do so.

Severus frowned. He needed to stop his thoughts from dwelling on ghosts of his past. What was done was done. He'd never stalk those halls again, or trade dirty jokes with Rolanda, or swap barbs with Poppy, or practical jokes with Filius, or replace all of Albus' stashes with sugar-free candy. Which was all really for the best, because he hated that miserable place.

Severus beckoned the boy to sit in the black leather armchair. It was, after all, the finest seat in the house. Billy sat uncomfortably, unaccustomed to the wizard he still thought of as his Head of House offering him a seat. From one of the small white boxes stuffed with red tissue paper Severus began pulling out the charmed teapot and other items he needed. Wisely, Billy managed to keep still and silent as the wizard worked. He knew better than to distract him when he was brewing, even if it was a pot of tea.

"I don't have milk to offer you, so I'm making Darjeeling," Severus drawled over his shoulder. Billy liked his tea with an extra splash, but figured pouting would get him nowhere, or could possibly land him somehow in detention with the Professor.

"No problem, Sir. I drink it without all the time," Billy cocked his head to watch him work, noting that the Professor wasn't even listening to him. He probably hadn't wanted an answer either.

His Head of House had always been larger than life. Especially so to Slytherins who whispered frightening stories of his prowess in the Dark Arts to the younger years. Once Billy had become a seventh year he realized that the same fantastic stories he had been told about Snape when he'd been a first year had reached epic proportions as they were handed down to the next generation.

Professor Snape was an ancient hybrid vampire of unspeakable power. _'Half Blood Prince of Darkness,'_ they called him.

Professor Snape was hatched from a harpy's egg. He had no navel, and could fly.

Professor Snape was dying from a curse that kept him pale and nasty. The counter curse required him to feed off of the hearts of small children who irritated him in class.

Professor Snape was an incubus who used his demonic voice to lure witches into his bed, and there hadn't been a single virgin to graduate Hogwarts since he started teaching.

Professor Snape was the Dark Lord's favorite.

Billy wasn't one to admit when he was afraid; so he didn't. He would say he respected Professor Snape a lot. The respect might have been born out of fear, but he was admitting to nothing. Not ever. And he certainly wasn't going to decline tea, even as he studied the hands that prepared it, looking for any sign that Professor Snape was going to poison him.

Billy quietly accepted the proffered teacup when offered, and took a orange spice wafer politely. He sighed in mild relief when it was obvious that the tea was just that. Tea. Not that the Professor of Slytherin House yore needed to poison him, because he had heard once that Severus Snape could steal a wizard's soul right out of his body just by locking eyes with him. Nah, he assured himself, scratching the back of his head, that was just rubbish.

Years watching the Professor had taught Billy that he was just a wizard like any other, even if the rumors still could be heard in his brain. For one, Billy had been there when the prisoners had been stripped and deloused, so he knew for certain that he had a belly button. And while he supposed the Professor was swinging something witches found impressive, it probably wasn't bigger than Hagrid's. And since he'd begun borrowing books from him, it was almost as if he was a decent sort... and the tea was kind of nice.

The Darjeeling was perfectly light and floral, Severus reflected, as he tilted his head back to rest propped up on the sleigh bed. The charmed teapot was the wrong way of going about making a decent cup, but it served his purpose functioning as both a kettle and teapot, and he was hardly in a position to argue. It was also his only source of hot water, so he never argued. In the evenings after Hermione left he filled it and waited until it made a false whistle, signalling it had just hit the ideal temperature and had not yet set to a boil. Then he stoppered his sink, poured the hot water in, and washed himself. Thankfully Hermione had never dropped by late at night and unannounced. His eyes closed in quite contemplation, wondering if she'd enjoy the show.

Billy shifted nervously, uncertain what to do with himself as the Professor seemed to have fallen asleep, his tea practically untouched.

"Uh, Sir?" Billy made another attempt at returning the Professor's paperback. He held in one sweaty hand the book, as the thick fingers on his other hand grasped the delicate saucer. Billy was justifiably nervous about holding the china. It was dainty and fragile looking and he knew if he wasn't careful he could easily break it, but if he didn't hold on firm enough he might spill the tea or drop it on the stone floor where it would certainly shatter. Which just made him more uncomfortable and his palms sweat, because it wasn't just Professor Snape's china, but a gift from Ms. Hermione as well.

Severus' eyes snapped open, sharpening at once on the boy who'd managed to gobble all the rest of his orange spice biscuits.

Severus accepted his book back and lazily gestured towards his library, offering the eager boy another. Life as an Azkaban guard was about as boring as an inmate's. He thought of what conversation in which he might engage the boy, but could not find a topic of interest that they shared. Those conversations were better saved for Hermione.

Hermione...

"You may borrow another book, if you'd like," Severus pointed to the overstuffed shelves of Muggle literature. Hermione had said she chose them because it was the only way she was certain she was bringing him titles he hadn't read, but he still suspected she was trying to get him to take an interest in _'her people.'_ Though why the witch still referred to them as _'her people'_ was beyond his ken. The moment Severus was old enough to hold his first wand he divorced himself as much as possible from all things Muggle and had rarely looked back.

"What about this one, Tess of the… uh…"

"D'Urbervilles? Not worth the ugly cheap Muggle paper it's written on. Unless you like reading about destitute milk maids maltreated and abused because of their blood status?"

Severus gave the young man a piercing glare. Billy Mulciber was correctly sorted Slytherin. Like many of his fellow Slytherins he'd been much too mischievous to fit into any other House; however, mischievous wasn't the same as cruel. But then Slytherin House had been chock full of witches and wizards without a cruel bone in their body. It was that ten percent that ruined it for everyone else.

By Severus' second year of teaching he'd cottoned on to the real method behind the madness. The Houses were always equal. Children were organized less on their natural inclinations than the needs for bedding and adequate class sizes. Eleven-year-olds were so malleable, and seven years of nurturing only reinforced what they'd been told about themselves. That _'magically'_ some tatty singing bonnet divined what lay in the deepest recesses of their souls. What utter bullshit.

"No, Sir!" he piped up hastily, snapping Severus out of his woolgathering. Jonas was smart to send him away; the boy was too soft. He wouldn't have lasted a season with his brethren.

"Well, if you liked Dumas' Musketeers," Severus said dryly, "you'll probably enjoy Ivanhoe on the second shelf."

"What about this other Dumas book?" he asked, looking up questioningly.

Severus grimaced at the book he was fingering. Hermione was obviously trying to make a statement through her choices of Muggle literature. And as always it was made with all the subtlety and finesse he'd come to expect from the average Gryffindor.

"You can take that one, too. And I'd prefer not to see it again if you don't mind. I don't care what you do with it - vanish it, burn it, drop it in the North Sea for all I care, but take it with you."

"Wouldn't Ms. Hermione mind?"

"I dare say she'd preen herself in triumph if she knew about our little book club, but let's just keep this to ourselves. Now take that book and whatever else strikes your fancy and leave, boy. But I'm warning you, if I find any more traces of chocolate on the pages I'll send Ms. Hermione after you, and she's much less forgiving than I."

"Sure thing, Professor!"

The boy left crumbs in his armchair and a nervously muttered 'Thanks for the tea,' and Severus let him go without a chiding word, even though he longed to. There was a certain level of amusement to be had by snapping at his jailers.

Severus washed up, and dutifully put his tea things away.

He climbed back into bed and listed to the sounds of the sea and the whooshing of the wind, and passed the late afternoon with his favorite new distraction. It was always best to get that sort of thing out of the way before Hermione visited him in the evenings. It put him in a much clearer frame of mind, and well, if he just happened to get lucky, a little extra stamina wouldn't go amiss.

He closed his eyes and imagined her stepping into his cell wearing those rhinestone studded heels again...

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A/N:  
Chapter title: Malum Quidem Nullum Esse Sine Aliquo Bono - There is, to be sure, no evil without something good. (Pliny the Elder)

Next chapter is Valentines! Heartshaped box of Honeydukes truffles for Christev20.

Thank you for reading, please leave a review! -AV


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 29 - Concordia Discors**

Valentine's Day was a callous cruel joke invented by high maintenance women and Honeydukes. Or at least Severus was convinced that it was a Honeydukes' conspiracy to choke 'love and mush' down the throats of all wizards just to part them from their hard earned galleons. It had to be.

Most would believe that the 'great greasy git' of Hogwarts' dungeons would never celebrate Valentine's Day, just because he had a slight tendency to zap every nauseating cherub enspelled to zoom around the castle dropping glitter on decent law-abiding people's heads. The things fell to the floor and twitched like flies with broken wings for hours. And Severus was rather proud of himself.

However, the truth was Severus rather liked Valentine's Day very much. He just preferred to observe the holiday in the traditional manner and fuck. He wasn't entirely certain just who this Saint guy was, but Lupercalia was in fact worth celebrating, repeatedly, and with as many willing witches as possible.

All in all, it was pretty damn comical that a Roman fertility rite consecrated to a she-wolf got the entire female population swooning the world over. Even funnier was that greeting cards and love struck teenagers adopted the arrow-shot heart as the symbol of the holiday.

Since the dawn of time and early crude drawings of man, the heart symbolized the feminine body. Any man who's ever had the delight of viewing a naked woman's thighs spread before has seen that particular heart shape. (A point which Severus wanted to write on many an essay when brainless twits insisted on using a heart as a punctuation symbol.) To further the joke, or perhaps to add insult to injury, the arrow piercing this 'heart' is not an arrow at all. It is the combination of the two runes Fehu and Tiwaz. The arrowhead Tiwaz symbolizes 'to conquer' and Fehu which is mistaken for arrow fletching means 'many times.' It does not take a genius to understand early man's lewd humor. And yet witches think it sweet.

Oh yes, how utterly adorable.

The question was: would his witch think it sweet? Hermione wasn't a giggling stupid swooning female, and she wasn't an ice queen either. But would the witch pout and get her knickers in a twist if he didn't make some effort to be romantic, or would she laugh in his face at the suggestion, given their relationship? Would she even care? And furthermore, did he really want her to?

Severus took a long mental pause, and slowly exhaled. He did. She was more than just the 'provider of pickled walnuts.' The witch was agreeable as a wife, even for a life-long confirmed bachelor. No, that wasn't it either. He'd never go so far as to confess that when he was with her he forgot he was in Azkaban or some other such claptrap. She'd laugh in his face if he ever said anything of the like to her.

And though he'd never stoop to writing her sonnets, or calling her by some nauseating endearment, he did feel genuinely affectionate toward the witch. Marginally tender even.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding?

He was falling like a mewling onion-eyed boy for the impertinent wench and she knew it.

As for her gift, Severus decided when in doubt, err on the side of caution. Especially when females are concerned. Even more so when females who are responsible for one's care and upkeep are concerned. He opted for a small gesture. When he sent his solicitor Mr. Ffoulkes to pick up the contents of his mother's jewelry box, for Christmas he'd given her a small silver bracelet. And as far as he could tell, Hermione wore it every day. For Valentine's he opted to give her a pair of pearl drop earrings. They were small, of undeniably high quality, and seemed to be middle ground as far as gift giving went.

There was a matching pearl necklace, but Severus wasn't certain he could give that with a straight face on Valentine's Day. It was best to save that for her birthday.

When Hermione did show up early that evening it was with a passable Bordeaux, take-out from Northern Italy, and a genuine smile on her face. Severus was just thankful she didn't show up dressed in harlot red or garish pink, but then Hermione did seem to be cleverer than the average witch. He handed her the earrings with a sheepish smile.

"They're an heirloom," he explained hoping the fact would cover that his gift seemed a bit unimpressive. He bit back the fact that his Grandmother would have had an utter conniption if she knew a common Mudblood wore her jewelry. He almost wished the old bat were alive to hear it.

"They're lovely Severus!" Hermione smiled, quickly donning the pair. He looked closely for any sign to suggest she was being disingenuous, and found none. "Thank you, you didn't have to, you know."

Severus waved that off. Of course the witch expected a gift. Every witch expected their man to give a token of esteem on Valentines. It was de rigeur. The token just varied from witch to witch. Some weren't so easily placated, and Severus was quite thankful that Hermione seemed pleased by the gesture. At least he didn't have to buy her a stable full of white quarter horses just to get her to stop sulking. Lucius hadn't been able to get Narcissa out of her boudoir for a week when she was less than pleased by his token.

Hermione pulled out dinner and they tucked in.

"I was almost expecting you to cook tonight," he murmured absentmindedly between forkfuls of crispy aubergine, before realizing most witches would take the comment as an insult and he was actually expected to be _nice_ on Valentine's Day.

Fortunately Hermione took the comment with a small chuckle. "I can't cook to save my life."

"And yet you had a talent for potions. I wonder why that is?"

Hermione looked up sharply at her ex-professor, stunned. Did he really admit that she had a talent for potions? Clearly Azkaban had gotten to him. In response to the question she merely shrugged. "I don't know, sometimes I think I'm cursed in that respect. It doesn't matter whether I proof my yeast or not, every bread I attempt turns out like one of Hagrid's rock cakes. All my sauces seem to separate. And nothing turns out like the pictures in the cookbooks. Harry thinks I'm subconsciously trying to boil my ingredients down into mini potions projects."

Severus smirked. "Are you?"

"Hm? Oh, I don't know. I think maybe I'm a disaster in the kitchen because I really don't care. I mean, I can heat things up just fine and make noodles, but I guess I'm not interested in cooking, really. There's no magic in it."

"Ah, and there I'd disagree with you. There is a sublime enchantment to a gently simmering pot, be it Amortentia or Coddle stew; both can be equally seductive if you fully engage your senses, Hermione."

'I would if he were standing behind me purring instructions,' she mused. Hermione's eyes widened as her logical brain processed her most illogical thoughts. 'Down girl! This is Snape we're talking about.'

Rapidly changing the topic, Hermione busied herself clearing away the remains of dinner and settled to the head of his sleigh bed. The bed really had become more of a couch over the weeks, as they'd face each other propped up, typically with reports scattered over every available surface.

Severus dutifully refilled her wine glass as she opened up a large heart shaped box of Honeydukes truffles in the center of the bed. He couldn't help but smirk. Practical witch or not, Hermione was most definitely a typical woman. She couldn't pass up an excuse to indulge in chocolate. There had to be something to the Honeydukes conspiracy theory.

Hermione tossed him a pillow and Severus relaxed against the footboard, wine glass in one hand and decadent chocolate in the other. Who was he to complain if the witch caved to silly holiday traditions?

Together they rested their eyes and sipped the heady wine.

"Last quarter reports should be out soon," he said softly.

Hermione stretched like a cat and adjusted the mountain of pillows before nodding. "Which reminds me, I have something for you."

"Oh? You got a Valentine for moi?"

"Ha!" she feebly mocked. "You hate Valentines. No, I have a cheque for you. You may not get paid, but you certainly earned a bonus from the Natural Scentsations Enchanted Air freshener. I think we're going to soundly trounce our sales projections."

"Thank you."

They sat in comfortable peace for a while enjoying the beautiful deep garnet hue of the wine and the act of doing absolutely nothing before Severus interrupted the silence.

"I don't hate Valentine's Day."

That really wasn't the sort of declaration Hermione expected from her evil snarky ex-professor who took great relish in trampling upon all things heartfelt and romantic for no other reason than a) he was a big bully and b) he could. "Oh this should be good, please clarify that statement."

"I hate the commercialization of it."

"Oh," she replied softly. "I suppose I can agree with you on that, then."

Severus snorted and taunted, "I'll alert the presses," but at the same time he absently picked up her foot and began to rub her arches. Hermione's jaw might have dropped from the shear absurdity of the situation, but she couldn't quite be certain she wouldn't drool all over herself.

Her eyes drifted shut, as the comfortable combination of good wine, sinful chocolate, and Severus' talented hands combined for a moment of pure hedonistic bliss. With her eyes closed, Hermione focused on the sensual massage and the welcome presence of a man, allowing herself to forget for the moment that she was quite literally in bed with Severus Snape, unrepentant sodding Death Eater.

Her eyes fluttered open immediately as she realized with a rush of blood to the head that wasn't quite true anymore. She could no longer pretend he was the bastard traitor that she couldn't be arsed to give a care about. In a time-stopping moment when a chest deep groan escaped her lips, she knew… her famed intellect had finally acknowledged the messages her body had been desperately trying to send. Those strange tugging urges she didn't have the voice to name. She desired him. She. Her. Hermione Granger wanted, desired Severus Snape on her own, without the influence of champagne to blame on her obvious lapse in judgment. No more self delusions.

"Shit," she swore beneath her breath, too softly for Severus to even register as he plucked at each toe, manipulating each digit, completely unaware of her personal revelation.

She'd ignored the sensations for weeks. Every time she told herself she'd berate herself later for feeling them. The small intimate touches, those innocent brushes of a hand that shot giddy tingles through her body. The feeling of utter and complete contentedness when she relaxed against his chest. How she reflexively squirmed when he was near and Hermione could feel his body warmth penetrating her skin. They were all symptoms and signs of impending disaster. The tightening of her nipples as he cradled her heel might as well have been a bloody horseman of the apocalypse.

"No," he continued, as his fingers deftly kneaded the ball of her foot, "it's a crime what's happened to wizarding traditions. All these ugly Muggle influences perverting wholesome holidays. It's a statement of fact, Vixen; this isn't some discussion on ice cream where one thing means another. I'm not advocating ridding the world of Muggles or Muggle-borns."

Hermione jerked her foot back, intending to kick him good and hard, and in the purse if she could reach it, but he caught her foot and shot her a glare.

"Ah ah ah," he chided. "Violence is most unbecoming, Hermione. If you want to debate my point then do so. Kicking me will only reinforce negative Muggle stereotypes."

"Negative Muggle stereotypes," she gritted out. "You're insulting my people."

"And yet my argument has merit. You agreed with my assertion that holidays have become commercialized."

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously before narrowing. "Making a profit is a universal human instinct. Greed is a human instinct. If there are Muggle traditions that have been adopted by wizarding society then perhaps one could argue that wizarding traditions are not strong enough to stand the test of time. Obviously wizarding society wants to embrace Muggle traditions. And there's nothing perverse about them."

"Oh what, so a fat inebriated man breaking and entering into a home in the middle of the night is wholesome?"

"That's just for children."

"You don't find that perverse then? A fat inebriated man breaking into a home where children are sleeping?"

"You're purposefully twisting this around. Can you honestly say you've never once written to Santa Claus?"

"That, Vixen, is irrelevant." Severus clenched his jaw to keep from smiling. He picked up her foot and focused on massaging it. By staring at her foot through a curtain of inky black hair he could hide his amusement. 'Hermione Baiting' was still by far his favorite pastime.

"Irrelevant? I should say it's very relevant. You're hedging. I suspect you wrote to him every year, hung stockings, and made sugar cookies. You're probably just angry because he didn't bring you a bike or a widget, or whatever such nonsense you wanted."

"A puppy," he said with a note of forlorn in his voice. "I always wanted a puppy. A little yellow lab to snuggle up and lick my face."

"Are you frickin' kidding me? Who are you and what have you done with Severus Snape?"

"What? I was a normal child. Just because I'm a miserable sod now doesn't mean I didn't have a childhood."

"Well then, this is just a classic case of transference. You never got your puppy and you harbor anger toward Muggles for it."

She wanted to blandly point out he was suffering from chronic depression, post traumatic stress disorder, and possibly survivor's guilt, but figured he wouldn't be too pleased with that estimation; he was a bit of a self-aggrandizing narcissist after all.

"Oh really, Hermione? Can it possibly be that simple? Thank you for illuminating that for me, I suspect now I can put to bed all my misgivings about the Muggle world encroaching on wizarding traditions and just chuck it all up to childhood disappointment."

"I never said it was the only reason you hate Muggles."

"I never said I hated Muggles."

"You hate our customs, you resent our influence, and you're sore about a Muggle tradition in your childhood."

_"I never said I hated Muggles."_

"You're a Death Eater, Snape. You never had to say it. I know you hate Muggles just as much as you hate Muggle-borns." His hands tightened painfully around her foot and Hermione held her breath.

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A/N:  
**I am in beautiful Knoxville, TN on business for the next 2 weeks. I am begging for wifi from Starbucks to post these chapters. I apologize in advance if my M/W/F posting schedule gets off or becomes inconsistent, or if I do not respond to your emails in a timely manner. Ya'll are my priority; however, my employer is not of the same opinion.**

Chapter title: Concordia Discors - Discordant harmony

Coddle stew reference for Caroline, my favorite Dubliner.  
Heirloom pearl earrings for Christev20. She knows why.

Thank you for reading! This chapter is three parts, I hope you enjoy all of them. Please leave a review! -AV


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 30 - O Tempora, O Mores! **

After a very long pregnant pause Severus spoke again, his voice even and exacting.

"I hate that wizarding children look forward to Halloween and not Samhain. I hate that proper wizarding artifacts are now being reproduced out of cheap plastic. That the three top selling broom companies make their handles out of Muggle fiberglass instead of traditional wood. That children graduate from Hogwarts knowing how to wave a wand about, but know nothing about our ways and our beliefs. And I hated being a Death Eater, but I never hated Muggles. I don't…

Severus swallowed thickly, "I never wanted to be a Death Eater, but then I suppose I only have a wizarding holiday to blame for that."

Hermione wrinkled her brow looking every bit like a tickle-brained Hufflepuff sitting in on a N.E.W.T. level course. "I don't follow. I mean, what does one have to do with the other?"

Severus rolled his shoulders and Hermione could have sworn she heard a distinct popping sound. He switched feet and began to massage her other set of toes as he settled in to tell a story that probably few had ever heard. Hermione was touched by his level of candor and trust that she was allowed a peek into the life of one of the most guarded and private wizards she'd ever met.

"I suspect you assume I had teenage delusions of grandeur, and knelt before the Dark Lord out of some macabre obsession with the Dark Arts and lofty dreams of Muggle-born oppression. I'm sorry to disappoint you, my dear; I became a Death Eater because I was stupid, pure and simple. And you may quote me on that. Potter and Weasley should be pleased.

"I don't have many complimentary things to say about the Dark Lord. Although he was wickedly funny at times. One just had to be careful when he was being 'oh funny _ha-ha_' and when he was being 'oh funny _Crucio._' But regardless of what you may think of him and what's been said about the man, at least when he was a man, he could throw a killer party. Malfoy never could quite out-do him, or capture the mood of them."

"Lord Voldemort?" she stated in disbelief. "Big ugly dude? Pastey skin, no nose, and a horrible lisp? That Dark Lord? A party animal?"

"The one and the same, only we're talking well over twenty years ago now. At the time, witches thought he was quite fetching. Back then he was like… I don't know… he was like David Bowie and Elton John all rolled in together. Without the hair and rhinestone glasses, mind you. But it was all… cool. There were parties, and drugs, and a little mischief, occasionally some breaking and entering to mess with the Muggles, and it was all tied together with a bit of political philosophy to make it sound somehow more legitimate than a bunch of strung out groupies.

"I mean, it was the Seventies, for Merlin's sake. That means the same thing in the wizarding world as it does in the Muggle one."

"And the orgies?" she asked skeptically.

He shrugged, "Love-ins." At her wide-eyed look he hastily added, "The rumors of rapes are greatly exaggerated. Willing witches have never been in short supply."

"That still doesn't explain how you became a Death Eater."

"Oh yes, that. I had the good fortune of passing out at a bacchanalian styled Midsummer festival. It was all tits and spiked punch… I may have been the one to spike it; I can't quite remember. I do remember waking up thankful someone hadn't spelled off my eyebrows or pulled some other equally humiliating prank, only to later discover I had acquired a new tattoo. At first I was just happy it didn't read 'Mum' or was some ugly tramp stamp, until it dawned on me - very slowly I might add - that I'd been branded. It was quite the common practice in those days."

"Geez, I always imagined bizarre graveyard rituals and creepy ceremonies."

Severus frowned, "That nonsense came later, although he always did have a flair for the dramatics -- hocus-pocus shit and all that. In those days it was quite common to get Shanghaied, as it were. It was just the inherent risk of hanging out and drinking with a bunch of disaffected Slytherin anarchists. Of course I was too stupid to believe I would be targeted. At the time I didn't believe they'd want anything from a twitchy half-blooded train wreck."

"And when you discovered this… tattoo, what did you do then?"

"I did what any idiot with two braincells to rub together did. I prostrated myself before him and said 'Yes, Sir. Good Sir. May I have some more, Sir?' Did you think there was some way to refuse? Hermione, if the Dark Lord wanted to recruit you, you were recruited."

"Why?" she asked with a touch of awe in her voice. "I mean, why did he want you? Um, not that he wouldn't, you know." She pulled a face, "That didn't come out sounding right."

Severus chuckled, his expressive eyes filled with mirth, "Hermione, I was a Potions Master - well, Apprentice - back then. I had access to all sorts of Class A narcotics."

"So wait, because I don't get this. You're telling me the early Death Eaters were just some harmless stoner groupies?"

"I never said that," he frowned. "We _were_ radicals back then. People were scandalized and outraged, but we weren't _as_ violent then. I'm not saying we were perfectly innocent. I'll never forget the night the Prewitt boys died. For a long time their deaths were the most brutal thing I had ever witnessed. And there was an awful lot of Muggle-baiting. But those nights were not as often as when he became reincarnated as Lucifer himself. Then again, everything was different in the Nineties, now wasn't it? We were much more violent as a society than in the Seventies even without the Dark Lord. The Muggles were able to delude themselves that magic simply did not exist because homicides were up across the board.

"And that's not how he operated anyway. Do you honestly believe the Dark Lord could engender trust and loyalty of an army through mindless torture, rape, and arson?

"Violence is unnatural; it goes against the grain of every reasonable human being. It's a turn-off for even the darkest wizard. Perverting his faithful followers took time; a slow seduction if you will. I doubt he'd have hunted the Potters as viciously in the early days. Of course, those twisted fucks who begged to join him knowing full well the extent of his depravity were always the ones to keep your eyes on."

"What was the Order doing during all this?"

He shrugged carelessly again, seemingly at ease in both massaging her foot and discussing murdering despots, "To be honest, we really didn't give much thought to the Order at the time. They were merely an inconvenience, a speed bump to fun. They were a self-righteous concerned citizens' group much like a neighborhood watch. We thought they just needed to get laid. Minerva especially. And when we caught one, well, it seemed like a sport to play with them. Of course what I couldn't see at the time was the Dark Lord's true aspirations and sphere of influence. It was too easy to get caught up in all the fun and mindless mayhem to bother with what was really going on. And it wasn't like he revealed all the pieces to the puzzle to us either. In retrospect, Albus was brilliant to recognize him for what he was.

"But then I suppose that like calls to like, doesn't it? Funny, it took me years of begging and debasing myself before the man simply because he said he was disgusted by me, before I learned how he spent his youth plotting the destruction and enslavement of Muggles." Severus didn't bother to hide the dry bitterness from his rasping voice, but shook his head to wipe away any poisoned thoughts about the Headmaster.

"Somehow I still have a difficult time imagining you in with the drugged out hippie crowd. You don't seem the type."

"Why? Because I'm wound too tight?"

"Well, yeah!" she blurted. "I mean, well… not wound tight, straight-laced maybe, but just not the sort of person to um… go to love-ins, or get involved in drugs. You seem, uh… too smart for that."

He raising an inquiring eyebrow at her statement, knowing full well she was fishing for answers. Of course she would want an explanation; when did Hermione Granger not expect answers?

"You seem to want excuses for things, reasons I murdered Albus…" he held up his hand to hold back another one of her futile arguments that it wasn't murder, which was no doubt on her pink pouting lips.

"Tell me Hermione, what excuse do you want to hear this time? That I had a difficult childhood, that my Mother didn't hug me often enough? Do you want to hear how I was bullied and made an outcast even in my own House? Or how I humiliated myself for a girl who couldn't bear to look at me even though I worshipped at her feet?

"I hated myself, Hermione. That's something that's never gone away. I couldn't stand to be such a foul loathsome git, so I tried to kill myself. I let myself become weak and self indulgent. I allowed myself to lose control of my damn mind," he sneered with such a look of disgust and self contempt that she shuddered from the force of it.

"Do not idolize me. A coward deserves no pity." He took a brief moment to gaze far over her shoulder in the wide distance of his mind, and she could plainly read his grief. Despite his protestations, Hermione wanted to reach out for him, wrap her arms around the grown man, and rock him like a small child. Soothe his hurt.

"Hermione," he said with a pained voice. "All I need is twenty five minutes, a size 2 cauldron, and 15 knuts worth of ingredients to make a potion that'll blow the back of your head off. I can put your mind and body into orbit. You'll touch the stars and taste colors that don't exist, and when your feet finally hit the ground again, you'll beg me with every fiber of your being to brew it again.

"I'm an addict. A recovering addict, but I'll always be an addict. Perhaps that explains why I appear to be wound tight. You have no idea how much discipline it took to work around potions knowing all I needed was a few minutes and some spare ingredients to get stoned. I could have pocketed just a small bit of what got thrown out or destroyed on a daily basis and nobody would have been any wiser. I can't describe to you the pain and hunger I felt every time I walked into that classroom. Even now I itch. It tends to put me a much fouler mood than the Dark Lord ever did."

The flesh was weak and oh, so willing. Azkaban was a mixed blessing as he had no opportunity to be tempted. His drug of choice was sweet and milky and so satisfying that he had long ago stopped adding anything to his breakfast tea lest he be reminded of the siren that called to him and fall back into her arms. Severus trembled slightly beneath his robes, but years of carefully maintained discipline nearly kept Hermione from seeing. Nearly.

"I really had no idea."

"_Of course not, you silly girl! No one knew!_" he seethed, his disturbingly cruel face contorted in fury. For a thundering heartbeat Hermione feared for herself; her close proximity to those terrible dark glinting eyes horrified her.

Hermione's recoil penetrated the thick fog of rage that surrounded his vision. Realizing he was a hair's breath away from losing his humanity, Severus took a calming moment to gain back his lost composure. Severus calmly and civilly apologized for the outburst as if he hadn't been ready to throttle her. Hermione. His Hermione.

"I see," she said thoughtfully, as it explained why he went flippin' psycho over just a few harmless doses of anti-depressants. Well, maybe they weren't so harmless...

Clearing her thoughts, Hermione turned her attention back to Severus' confession. "Though I never expected to hear this from you. Why are you telling me all this?"

"Well," he said with a deep sigh. "You already know the truth of my humbling shame. What's the point in keeping anything else from you now? You'll just nag me with questions til my ears bleed anyway." He smiled weakly as Hermione shot him a dirty look. How was he supposed to say he no longer wanted to keep it bottled up? That he finally had realized confession was good for the soul?

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A/N:  
Chapter title: O Tempora, O Mores! - Oh, the times! Oh, the morals! (Cicero)

You did get the part where I said this fic was firmly AU, didn't you? Also, I don't know about Brit slang, but a 'tramp stamp' is one of those hideous tattoos that stupid chicks on spring break get, usually on the small of their backs. You know, the dolphin, mangled kanji, butterfly, or god-forbid the worst offender; the 'meaningful' tribal art design, which begs the question 'And your tribe is?' I am, unapologetically, an American writer.

Thanks for all the well wishes. No, the ice storm hasn't hit here. It's just soggy.  
Kisses (and more ponies) to Christev20 for her awesome beta skills. You're mad woman!

Thank you for staying with this, even after the evil cliffie. -AV


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 31 - Cacoethes Scribendi **

"So… Voldemort's so-called rule was much different the second time around," she mused out loud. "I bet that's why Fudge thought he could handle him quietly himself."

"Quite. Fudge was a fool to underestimate the Dark Lord. It was by fluke that he died the first time; to expect he'd so readily give up power again was stupid on an epic level. The Dark Lord reincarnated himself into something that was not human. Second time around it was all rum, sodomy, and the lash. Much like joining the Royal Navy, I'm told. I'd have blamed too much coke, but ripping one's soul apart has a profound effect on the psyche to which even drugs can't compare. I should know."

Hermione's entire body went rigid and she felt a heavy stone drop in the pit of her stomach, "You made a Horcrux?" she whispered.

"What? No… life-debt." Severus riffled his hand through his stringy locks looking just as stressed and on edge as she felt. "I told you before; I owed a life debt to James Potter." Severus jerked his head up waiting for her reaction, but she showed none.

Through clenched teeth Severus slowly bit out, "_This_ is why I'm pissed Hogwarts teaches the students nothing about our world, though any Pure-blood wouldn't need an explanation. I owed him a life debt, then I was responsible for his death."

"Indirectly," Hermione piped up.

"Immaterial. It doesn't matter how many times I throw myself between Potter and whatever beast with great big gnashing teeth he wants to make friends and cuddle with, or life-threatening puerile shenanigans he decides to get into; it's a debt I can never repay. To die with that kind of black mark means spending an eternity in purgatory. I imagine I probably should live it up a bit in this gilded cage, knowing where I'm going."

"I really don't believe that. God is not that cruel; through penitence and acts of contrition you can receive redemption."

"Hermione, your Muggle is showing."

She waved him off, "God doesn't judge wizards differently than he does Muggles. He loves us all entirely, regardless of ability. He wants us to atone for our sins and learn to become better people."

Severus shook his head and set aside her foot. "I'm not going to get into a philosophical debate on morality and the nature of the universe, not when you're applying a Muggle value system. It suffices to say in the wizarding world, I'm entirely fucked."

Hermione couldn't accept the very notion that God treated wizards and Muggles dissimilarly or held them up by different standards. Perhaps it was her ignorance in his belief system, or her own heavy handedness in imposing her own values on another, but Hermione couldn't accept that Severus would be written off as unredeemable by an unjust and uncaring God as he'd been by wizarding society. Obviously, Severus was wrong.

Her church may have dictated that she sit in uncomfortable pews and sing terribly uninspired dirges, but her God was beautiful. The Divine had endless compassion and mercy. She fundamentally believed God understood human failings and loved all regardless of the disappointing choices humanity made, but she wasn't about to preach that to him. Hermione had a reputation for being bossy and pushy, but not preachy. If Severus wasn't willing to accept the truth as she saw it, maybe she could guide him towards it in a roundabout and Slytherin way.

"If you're so fucked, what are you doing in jail then? You said it yourself, you keep yourself here. I have every confidence you could escape if you wanted to, so why don't you? Instead of living it up in this gilded cage, as you so aptly put it, why not live it up on the outside? Why not get on with the sinning while the sinning is good?

"I think," she concluded triumphantly, "that you really believe redemption is possible, and that this," she waved her arms wide to encompass the small cell, "is your self-flagellation."

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Surely you aren't naïve enough to believe that the morality of right and wrong is only tied by religion. Even secular humanists believe in and abide by the law."

"Alright, I can concede that point." She waited patiently for him to make another. She wanted to hear his next argument to continue the debate, as she was just warming up to the topic, but Severus sat in speculative silence. Apparently the question was no longer up for discussion.

As Hermione's busy brain clicked over the possibilities for a good heated discussion, she became acutely aware that she was woefully unprepared to have it. Severus had made a good point; a Hogwarts education did not include much on magical culture.

She knew that most wizarding folk practiced what appeared to her as an incoherent blend of mono- and polytheism with no proverbial dogmatic strings attached. Admittedly, Hermione wasn't entirely sure how it all worked out, but it was oddly disconcerting to hear Roman epithets like 'Sweet Juno's jugs,' or 'By Circe's pigs,' casually sworn on Christian holidays.

Not that disturbingly colorful descriptions of Merlin's anatomy were any better. Hermione always wondered if the ice-entombed wizard was rolling in his proverbial frozen grave every time some snot-nosed wizard swore by his hairy testicles.

Hogwarts really did nothing to introduce these things to Muggle-borns, or even the general student population. There was of course Muggle Studies as an elective, but wizarding studies began and ended with History of Magic, which focused entirely on this-and-that-such Goblin rebellion. In a moment of realization, Hermione felt bereft, a sense of loss and mourning for the learning that never was.

Severus sat uncomfortably, unsettled by the fire in her gaze and the veracity of her impassioned speech. Ideologically speaking, the chit had a reasonable argument, but how was he to explain to her, 'I'm in Azkaban because I feel like it,' and not sound like an ill-tempered three year old? Or worse, a coward.

It was all quite simple. Severus had lived under the thumb of two masters, ignoring the wise old adage that 'a man cannot serve two masters,' and thus he did away with one. Regrettably, it wasn't the one he would have preferred to kill, and now he didn't want to live with himself. There, that sounded reasonable enough without going into detail about the nightmares, retching, and the fond fantasy that an overlooked Dementor still lurking in the abandoned bowels of Azkaban would come upon him and snog him soundly.

"I still think you're being unnecessarily harsh on yourself. Even if you believe there's some shred of a chance that you'll be granted a reprieve from whatever deity you believe in, shouldn't you be spending your days performing acts of loving kindness instead of sitting here?"

"Oh? You really believe redemption is possible for a murderer? Is there nothing sacred in your fantasy world of good and evil? Can you really not accept that there is a threshold? A line that should not be crossed? Taking a life is unforgivable, hence the Unforgivables. Even your little book states it quite plainly, _'Thou shalt not kill.'_"

"Murder," she huffed. "It's _'Thou shalt not murder,'_ and you plainly did not murder Professor Dumbledore or the Potters."

"Semantics," he dismissed with a casual wave. "And just what does your book say are the consequences for such a sin?"

Hermione screwed up her face. The commandments were a part of Deuteronomy, but she didn't remember any holy warning label attached for breaking them. Leviticus covered law itself, and had never been one of her strong suits. Leviticus seemed to be all about tabernacles needing to be built with so many cubits of acacia wood, and how much grain to leave at the corners of fields.

"Damn," she muttered to herself. What were the consequences of breaking one of the _biggies_? As far as she knew, it was a moot point as long as one confessed and asked for forgiveness. Hermione mentally snorted thinking it was unlikely that Severus would have an eleventh hour Come-to-Jesus meeting. Did that mean his soul was damned?

'Thou shalt not murder' was even one of the Seven Noahide Laws. Yep. It was a pretty big one. It was up there with 'Honor thy Father and Mother.' Shit. Yet another reminder that she was probably going to hell herself. Leaving her memory-modified parents in Australia probably wasn't the kindest thing a daughter could do. Oh well.

She eyed Severus critically. At least she'd have good company in hell.

Severus broke through her mental meandering, "Since it's obvious you don't have a ready answer, I'll supply one. By tradition, I'm probably destined to continually roll a rock up a hill, or have my eyes and entrails repeatedly clawed out for all of eternity, or until one of the Gods decides to take pity on me.

"By the Catholic Church, my fate is all hellfire and damnation unless I confess every last sin I've made, snack on some wafers, and let some skypilot throw water on my head. The Protestants… I suppose it's more of the same, depending on the brand of malarkey. The Jews really aren't sure about their afterlife, and don't speculate on it much, but believe evil souls are blinked out of existence entirely, which may be the most pleasant outcome I could hope for. And under Islam it's again with the hellfire, although I do have to make some attempt at crossing a bridge the width of a single hair. But there is a post script with most all of them, that if I spend only half of an eternity or so groveling in purgatory, I may be forgiven."

Severus looked up at her patiently, ready for the next volley even though Hermione looked completely nonplussed. He wondered what she needed in order to drop her line of inquiry. As much as he admired the girl for her, 'Never take No for an answer' mentality, it was wearing thin.

Did she honestly think that he hadn't contemplated eternal questions about the path to redemption? He was sitting in prison. Every man waxed and waned on his destiny while doing porridge.

"So basically, what you're telling me is that wizards just follow Greco-Roman traditions." Was it really necessary to be so cagey about it?

"You, woman, are impossible! Do you stay up all night working on ways of tormenting me, or does it just come naturally to you?"

"Naturally, I suppose," she responded with a shrug. A simple 'yes or no' answer would have sufficed. Hermione didn't exactly know why she was smiling; only that she had somehow gotten one over on him and that was reason enough.

"Incredible. And here I've been congratulating myself for knowing what buttons to push to annoy you. I should have been taking notes from the Master. Just because the wizarding world has an unnatural affinity for all things Roman, or at the very least atrocious Latin, does not mean we all pray to Roman gods. Or did I somehow miss the burnt offerings and fertility rituals on the Quidditch pitch?" Actually, if he'd been quite honest with himself and Hermione, he had seen plenty of fertility rituals taking place under the Quidditch stands, and Hagrid's rock cakes would have passed for a burnt grain offering any day.

"So _Professor,_" she said stressing his title, "if I'm so blasted ignorant, _teach._

For a fraction of a moment Severus looked completely bewildered before he composed himself. "It's simple. A witch or wizard is expected to chose the manifestation of the God or Goddess, or both, that has meaning to them and adds value to their lives. If they choose to utilize the Christian deities then they may do so…"

"Deity." Hermione butted in. "The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are one."

"I'll leave that one for debate another night. Stop interrupting. The point is the manifestation of the Divine on earth has to be meaningful to the individual or the rituals involved in worshipping are meaningless. Shall I now lecture you on intention in magic?"

"No, go on _Professor._."

"Don't get snippy, girl, you asked." Once Hermione looked properly chastened he continued. "The wizard is then expected to abide by the traditions and demands of his Deity. It's simple… or not," he added with a frown.

"And your chosen Deity would expect you to continue to live like this, and then torture you more after death?" she asked with a bewildered expression. "What kind of God did you choose?"

"That's personal!" he snapped.

After a moment of squirming Severus grudgingly admitted to following Roman traditions.

"I think…" she finally spoke, lost in thought, "I think you should write a book."

"A Death Eater tells all?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow, confused by her non-sequitur. "You think I'd fuel public gossip and impugn my right to privacy by airing dirty laundry and all the sordid details of our debauchery? Do I look like a man without shame?"

"You said it, not me. Personally, I think it would be cathartic, and yes, a Death Eater tell-all would sell copy," Hermione tapped her finger thoughtfully against her lips, "But to be quite honest, even though 'history' has already been written by the victors, I had no idea about half the things you've just told me. Why not write the story about the other side of the war? Everybody has heard enough about the heroes. Not to mention you really are the last Death Eater. Your entire cell block is full of lifeless bodies; your story will die with you. I'm actually pretty certain you're the only conscious prisoner in the long term inmate ward."

It had taken her a bit to figure it out, but Hermione finally came to the correct conclusion as to why she never saw any other visitors and why the boys let her practically have the run of the place. It was enough to give anyone serious freakin' creeps.

"An oversight, I'm sure. The moment any word of my condition gets out the Ministry will no doubt rectify that," he sneered. She rolled her eyes.

"It wouldn't have to be a trashy tabloid tell-all, and that's not what I'm getting at either. I think you have a story to tell, a fascinating story by the way, so why not set it straight? Besides, nobody said you had to get published; that's not necessarily the point of writing. I just think it would give you something productive to do, and I know seeing things sorted out on paper always gives _me_ perspective. You could benefit from that."

Her idea had captured a bit of his imagination, even as Hermione's mouth was moving; a narrating voice in his head was talking. He needed a quill… immediately.

Hermione smirked as Severus hastily launched himself off the bed, a tangling rush of limbs and robes as he made a grab for parchment and she downed the last dregs of her wine. She knew that intense expression he wore on his face; inspiration had struck him thunderously hard and he hadn't even agreed to write it.

She made a mental checklist to bring him more writing supplies and to contact Luna immediately. He'd need a good editor if he was going to get published, and despite what she'd suggested Hermione was determined to have his story heard. She wasn't one hundred percent positive that the public would sympathize with him, but even if a few witches and wizards were touched by his predicament, it would give him the hope he truly needed. Even if she couldn't assuage the guilt he felt, humbled before his God, perhaps he could find some peace on earth, even in Azkaban.

Her only worry was inviting attention to her marriage. She would be risking a Ministry inquiry into the state of their relationship and her child production. The thought was enough to send panic racing into her bloodstream and make her stomach do somersaults. And yet, somewhere they had turned a corner. She intrinsically knew she was willing to risk more of herself for him. It wasn't love. Well… no. Maybe. No. And she wasn't going to start knitting him hats either, but it was something. A feeling without a name. And Severus was worth the risk.

Hermione quietly took her leave, smiling as she bade Severus goodbye, only to receive a grunt in return. 'Oh, he has it bad,' she cackled, only faintly concerned that his writing would interfere with the running of her/their business.

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A/N:  
Chapter title: Cacoethes Scribendi - An insatiable urge to write.

In this chapter Severus is cavalier and dismissive regarding religion. I believe that's in keeping with the nature of his character, and not in line with my respect for religion (of my own and others'). The warning at the beginning of this fic was meant to cover this. If you want to address any issues with me, contact me offline, I can be contacted at . Flame postings will be ignored.

Another side note, the 'two masters' reference comes from Christian scripture as well, Matthew 6:24 and Luke 16:13. Thanks to Christev20 for pointing that out. I never knew where it came from.

This chapter also had to be seriously edited down. If you are a student of theology you'll notice that I lightly brushed over, um… well… literally everything. Honestly, it's the sort of subject that a single conversation just won't cover it. I wasn't trying to either. You could spend a lifetime reflecting on the subject.

Massive thanks to TenderQuaintWitch and Christev20 for proofing the theological ideas expressed.

Your concrit is appreciated. -AV


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 32 - Amor Tussisque Non Celantur**

"Wow… this is just… wow," Ginny breathed, her mouth gaping open and her eyes riveted.

"You've said that already, but what do you actually think of it?" Hermione timidly questioned as her teeth worried her bottom lip.

"It's… well, um… if it's true, that is… then it's absolutely brilliant." Ginny took a swipe at an errant tear that began to trickle down her cheek.

For a solid week Severus had done absolutely nothing but write. He hadn't touched a single distributor's report or product review. He'd been covering rolls and rolls of parchments with cramped spindly handwriting, and there didn't seem to be any stopping him in the foreseeable future.

Hermione had taken to dropping off food and supplies and beating a hasty exit, as the surly wizard was even more difficult to live with while he was engrossed in his manuscript. Every attempt at conversation was met with a grunt or harsh glare. But there was no denying the quality of his work or, as Ginny said, that it was absolutely brilliant.

"Gods, 'Mione, you must be like the luckiest witch in the world to be married to him."

"What?" she shrieked, not intending to sound as high pitched as she did.

Ginny's eyes shone with a disturbing amount of tears. "It's so beautiful. He must be so romantic to live with. Even his description of the dirty scavenger birds picking at the litter around his home is poetic."

Unbidden, a smile tugged at the corner of her lips; Severus was able to channel his silken voice into a finely crafted narrative. His style oozed sensuality as he coupled compelling imagery with brutally raw emotion. Hermione was determined that for her next great 'invention' she was going to bring books on tape to the wizarding world. There was no way his story would be done justice without his round diphthongs and captivating vowel sounds to purr it out.

"Gin, have you lost your mind, girl? Have you forgotten this is _Snape_ we're talking about? I thought you hated him. What happened to the evil murdering traitor, Snape?" she ignored the nagging tug at the back of her skull that scolded her. She was a hypocrite.

Ginny sniffed a bit and dabbed her eyelashes. "I know," she wailed, "but he was just a little boy, Hermione… just a kid…" the rest of her words were completely unintelligible as they were drowned out in sobs.

Fortunately, she cradled the parchment tightly to her breasts, or else his lyrical writing would have been dissolved by tear blotches. Severus would have had a cow. Hermione wouldn't put it past him to break out of Azkaban, stab the redhead to death with an ink stained quill, dance a lively jig on her grave, and then slip back into his cell to write a few more chapters.

"Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Gin, get a grip."

Ginny waved Hermione off as she reluctantly set the manuscript down, caressing it with her gaze. "When will the next chapter be done?"

"Seriously? I don't know. He seems to write in mad spurts, and just throws whole sections at me at a time."

Internally Hermione berated herself. She should have just taken the rolls to Luna instead of sharing with Ginny, but how was she supposed to know that Severus' most resolute critic would fall to pieces? She needed to get Ginny laid. And fast.

"You've got to let me read it the moment he's finished. I've just got to know what happens."

"What happens? Gin, you know what happens. He becomes a Death Eater, murders Dumbledore, and goes to prison. The End."

"Why are you doing this, Hermione? Why are you acting like you're not affected? Like you don't care? I don't know how you can be so cruel."

She shrugged. "I'm not; I just choose not to lose my objectivity. I know the man, Gin. Hell, I practically live with him, and though I'll admit he's not as bad as I suspected he'd be, I'm still not going to idolize him. He's not a nice person. He'll never be a nice person. He's just as mean and taciturn now as he ever was." The words sounded cold coming out of her mouth as Hermione held herself back defensively.

"Well, I'm not buying it," Ginny said with a sharp intake of breath. "I think you're avoiding the truth. I think it's eating you up that you actually fancy your husband. And I think you're ashamed by it."

If they didn't have years of friendship to draw on, Hermione might have used a litany of colorful words to describe Ginevra Weasley. And while a good cat fight wasn't completely out of order, Hermione was unwilling to let her know she'd touched a nerve. A very raw nerve. "I might," she said uneasily. "Severus, is... difficult. He pries into absolutely everything, and he can be a real horrid bastard, but..."

"But?" Ginny coached with a sly smile. Gin was always a girl up for the gory details of any relationship.

Hermione eyed her friend closely; she feared the rejection that was certain to come from her Weasley family if they knew the truth. If they knew that their darling Gryffindor princess was falling for the biggest snake in Slytherin, they wouldn't understand. To them he was still _the Traitor_, the murdering wizard who had struck Dumbledore down, casting him cruelly off the Astronomy tower. Molly had thrown a massive shit-fit when she found out Hermione had married the man, but at least she seemed to sort of understand Hermione's cold logic, even if she was put out. Molly was ruthless in her own right. Hermione was using the bastard; that was nearly acceptable.

Loving him? Having a real marriage, even one in an Azkaban cell, that was tantamount to her throwing her lot in with the traitorous wizard. She lived in a world of darkness and light. Good and bad. Severus was one of the bad guys, or so everyone thought. To reveal that she stood alongside Severus Snape was to stand on the wrong side of the dividing line.

Hermione bit her lip wondering how much she could actually reveal before being decried a traitor, too, but found no malice in Ginny's eager expression. Her girlfriend just wanted to dish some good girl talk, and Hermione relaxed, breathing just a bit easier. Perhaps she just needed to trust friend. Ginny had never judged her too harshly before, and if she empathized with Severus' chapters about his early childhood, maybe she'd understand. The last time she had talked to Ginny about her suspicions that Severus was innocent, she was met with open hostility. Apparently the hostility only extended to Severus' innocence; gossip was perfectly acceptable.

"But... I like him."

"Like?" Ginny asked dubiously. "'Mione, you're the witch with the fifty sickle vocabulary, and you 'like' him? I think you're doing a lot more than 'liking' him. So, fess up, what's it like shagging Snape?"

"Ginny!" Hermione loudly squeaked, before lowering her voice, "I'm not shagging Severus."

"Really, what a pity. With that nose and those hands, I'd be willing to bet he's got something worth having between his legs."

Hermione's head fell heavily into her hands as her cheeks burned. A repressed mental image from when she had caught Severus doing push-ups in his cell, sweaty and clad in tailored trousers, came to her mind's eye. Was it wrong to want to lick a trail up and down that chest? Life would have been much easier if she had stayed on her Liquid Sunshine. The potion had a wonderful side affect of suppressing all those distressing thoughts and urges.

"All right," Hermione confessed, feeling much like a blushing third year, "I fancy Snape. I like my husband. Is that a crime?"

"No," Ginny smiled glibly, as if she'd won something, "I just wanted to hear you admit it."

"I don't want to talk about Severus Snape any more tonight. So… tell me… how was your date with… Roger? Randy? What was his name?"

"Dick. Dick Duck," Ginny replied with a completely serious face. "He actually didn't balk when I mentioned my plans for the future, but he did stick me with the check. Asshole. Not that I could see myself as Mrs. Ginevra Duck either way. But I can't believe I'm getting desperate enough to consider it."

"Really?" Hermione asked incredulously, pouring another glass of white zinfandel for the witch. After all, they could both use it.

Ginny swirled the sweet pink liquid around her glass, seemingly captivated by its color. "Yeah," she conceded blandly. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know any of the other inmates at Azkaban, would you? Maybe not someone with a life sentence… a petty crime perhaps? Nothing too violent…" she said as she made a face.

Hermione held back a giggle. "Don't be silly, Gin. You're not that desperate. Besides, it's not like I've visited any of the other wards. The only people I know are Severus and… oh."

"Oh?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"Well, it's just…" Hermione's mouth opened and closed several times, as she was uncertain whether to say anything at all. "Ginny, you're not really serious about this are you?"

Ginny had a pensive look about her, but nodded the affirmative.

"Alright, fine. I don't even know why I'm mentioning him. I don't even know if he's married… I don't think he is, but he might not appeal to you."

"Is he terribly ancient?"

"What? No… um… gosh, I think he might have been four years ahead of me."

"How long is his sentence?"

"Geez, girl, do you really think I'd set you up with an inmate? No, he's a guard."

Ginny breathed a long sigh of relief. "You had me really worried there for a minute. And here I was thinking he was some horrible shackled-up insane inmate or something. Don't scare me like that."

Hermione really didn't want to contemplate why Ginny would even think that, or the fact that it appeared that she was honestly considering such a person as suitable. The dating scene must have gotten much worse and more desperate than she thought, as Ministry deadlines were approaching. Again, she thanked her _'never, ever procrastinate'_ personal mantra for seizing upon Snape as soon as she had. Who knew Severus Snape would ever be a desirable mate?

"Well, in that case, I'll just have to arrange for you to meet him. Actually, the more I think on it, the more I realize you might be a good match for each other. He's smart… too smart for Azkaban, actually. Relatively good looking, even if it is in a neglected sort of way. Oh, and family is really important to him. I don't know how he'll feel about a Quidditch pitch full of kids, but I do know family is definitely a priority in his life."

Ginny shrugged miserably, "It doesn't matter, I've given up on all the kids as a pipe dream anyway. Besides, if he's that much of a keeper and hasn't already been snapped up there's got to be something really wrong with him. I mean, other than working at Azkaban, of course. But hey… at least he's employed… for some reason, I don't think Dick was…"

Hermione smiled, "I don't want to sound too hopeful, but I think you'll get along famously. If he isn't attached, it's because he probably doesn't get a chance to meet people outside of work. He may be an overlooked gem amongst the rough." She knew she was laying it on thick, but it really tugged on her heartstrings to hear the resignation in Ginny's voice. And it was actually possible they'd make a decent couple.

"So what are you not telling me? Come on, Hermione, what's the bad part?"

It was honestly sad to think that such a young and vivacious witch was so broken that she couldn't fathom a potential suitor not having a 'catch.' Fucking Ministry should be burned to the ground.

She had had high hopes when Kingsley succeeded Scrimgeour. Rufus Scrimgeour was the beast behind the Ministry's policy of rounding up undesirable wizards and witches who posed threats to the safety of their world, which she now knew meant Kissing families en masse.

She was glad to see Scrimgeour go, and had proudly campaigned for Kingsley. That was, until his administration had introduced the Marriage Law that found both of them in such untenable predicaments. And Kingsley was so anxious to avoid the appearance of preferential treatment to Order members that he was unwilling to give them waivers. Hermione wasn't certain what she'd do if she ever found herself alone in one of the Ministry's elevators with him, but she rather expected she'd make an unladylike spectacle of herself.

"Well… he is a Mulciber," she weakly confessed.

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A/N:  
Chapter title: Amor Tussisque Non Celantur - Love, and a cough, are not concealed. (Ovid)

Love to my fantabulous beta Christev20 who effortlessly handled a last-minute rewrite with such grace.

Thank you for your reviews and support. I appreciate how well everyone handled the last few chapters. Religion can be a real turn-off for people, but I think it's impossible to have a meaningful Redemption fic without mentioning religion. Thank you for your maturity. Please continue to read and review. -AV


	33. Chapter 33

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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 33 - Illegitimis Nil Carborundum**

Like most mornings, Hermione awoke with a good stretch, the obligatory cuddle with Crooks, and a smile on her face. Ever since she learned to restructure her time management skills, life had gotten much more relaxed. Even the soft guilty voice nagging at the back of her brain, insisting that her comfort was due only to Severus' shouldering of her responsibilities, had gone away. And it only had taken two months of ignoring the voice to get rid of it.

Padding to the bathroom Hermione took an invigorating shower and dressed for the day. According to her day planner, she had only two meetings and a few phone calls to return, making it nearly as light as a weekend. Satisfied, she continued her routine, humming softly and mulling over the latest brilliant project, a self-warding door. It wasn't her original idea, but it was another Muggle-fueled invention stolen from automatic-locking car doors.

Hermione was pleased that she was able to profit so handsomely off of the wizarding world's ignorance and refusal to make even cursory investigations into the Muggle world. If even one of her competitors bothered to take inspiration from Muggle inventions, they might come close to matching her market share.

Of course she wasn't counting on 'Murphy's Law' to be in effect. She was lured into a false sense of security afforded by a larger staff, Severus' unerring assistance, and more sleep, but all that could not shield her from angry asinine Douchebags.

The Douchebag (capital D as it was a proper noun) in question was none other than Horatio Sturdivant Hopper: sycophant, lackluster innovator, and all-around waste of space. In Hermione's mind, Hopper was yet another glaring example of the impressive mistakes she'd made in the early days of Granger Industries. She'd been swayed by style over substance.

At his job interview, Hopper seemed to be the most ideal and qualified candidate she'd laid eyes on - dressed in smart pin-neat robes and appearing every bit as bookish and nerdy as a cliché Muggle chemistry teacher. Hermione'd been duped. His qualifications were exceptional. The chinless-wonder had had high marks at school, an outstanding recommendation from his former Head of House, Professor Flitwick, and several years of practical experience working as a research assistant in a theoretical Transfiguration think-tank that made her impulsively offer him a position.

She should have paused more when her eyes swept past the theoretical part. There shouldn't have been anything theoretical about Transfiguration; the discipline bore instant fruits of conscious labor. Apparently he spent his time at the institute 'thinking about Transfigurations' and not doing a damn bit more, not unlike the service he'd provided Granger Industries.

Regardless, Hermione'd been schnookered and was stuck with him, until recently. On Severus' urging she paused production and the company came to a grinding halt. She needed a week to paper the wizarding world with Help Wanted ads, sort through potential candidates, and rebuild her R&D ranks. Her employees, on the other hand, needed the week to relax and refresh. The resulting new hires led to a huge productivity boost which more than made up for the week of down time. And everyone was happy, except for Hopper. Hermione finally had enough competent new blood in the department that she could let him go.

He was not cut loose and cast abruptly into the cruel callous world. That wasn't how she operated. Instead Hermione grudgingly, and with perhaps more bad grace than strictly necessary, offered him a more generous severance package than the ass-kissing do-little deserved.

Now, as she clutched in her shaking fist a Muggle court summons for unfair dismissal, theft of intellectual property, and patent infringement, Hermione was beyond livid. And an overly polite note from his legal team suggested they were eager to discuss a monetary settlement out of court. Hermione was seething so badly she couldn't even think of an appropriate enough hex, jinx or curse that would cause the kind of misery and pain she wanted to inflict. Short of running to the Black family library to find said appropriate hex, Hermione had to know how seriously she was fucked. A call to her lawyer, Mr. Tattings, was made, quickly followed by another call to Mr. A. Ffoulkes.

*****

"How fucked am I?" Hermione nervously asked. She sat impatiently in Ffoulkes's conference room as the two wizards ran their noses through court documents.

Ffoulkes, who neither blushed nor admonished her for her colorful word choice simply stated, "This isn't good at all."

"You do realize this is extortion," Tattings offered anxiously.

"Yeah, I got that even before the Ministry owl arrived," Hermione bitterly conceded.

Mr. A. Ffoulkes shuffled piles of parchments and sat back, his arms crossed thoughtfully across his protruding belly. "He's skating a fine line by using the law in both worlds to sue you. The allegations are frivolous and he has no way of proving patent infringement or theft of intellectual property. In Muggle courts, you would be able to take action against him for bringing forward such groundless threats. But by bringing you to Muggle mediation he's able to simultaneously use the Wizengamot against you for revealing magic to the Muggle world. It's clever, especially since it looks like he'll win this one."

"Why do you assume that? Have you already given up before even attempting any kind of solution?"

"Madam Granger," Tattings began in a soothing voice, "You must have known you were taking a very serious gamble when you put your business directly in the Muggle world. To the British government your business does not exist. You've never paid their taxes, or even registered the company as legitimate. I doubt many of your employees have proper work documents, and though they are citizens, it's going to look like you employ illegals. Right now he's threatening to bring you before a civil judge if you don't accept his request for an out of court settlement. If you don't take it and go before a judge, it could open a criminal inquiry into your company. And once they start investigating some of his complaints it's going to look like you're running an underground slave shop."

Hermione pursed her lips together. "It will look that way, won't it?"

Tattings nodded, offering sympathy with his concerned eyes. "If he doesn't get what he wants from them, he'll sue you through the Ministry," he continued, picking up a large roll of parchments already filed with the courts. "They'll go after you criminally for tampering with the Muggle legal system, and it won't be considered double jeopardy because the two governments won't talk to each other, especially not on a matter of inconsequence like this."

Hermione's only small consolation was that she at least had made some friends at Azkaban prison, but she couldn't guarantee they wouldn't Kiss her either. It was more economical to keep prisoners in catatonic states. If she played her cards right, she might be able to get a cell near Severus.

"Did you have any plan to deal with Muggle authorities?" Ffoulkes inquired.

She sighed deeply. "No, not really. Nothing past a bit of Fascination, some well placed Obliviates, and anti-Muggle wards. I suppose I can't Fascinate the arbitrator, can I?"

"I think not. It's already in their computers and their inkerwebs."

Prematurely, a crease had developed between Hermione's eyebrows, and when her face pinched and her head throbbed, the line became quite deep. As Hermione worried over her fate, her business, and the futures of her employees who were like a family to her, she pushed her thumb into the crease trying to alleviate the pounding headache that was forming.

"How do I make this go away?" she asked, exhaustion clearly evident in her voice.

"If I may make a suggestion," Tattings spoke up, "I propose we bring Mr. Hopper to a neutral third party location and negotiate a settlement. We won't have a clear idea on how to proceed until we know exactly what he wants."

"He's going to want everything," Hermione moaned. "God, he's such a greedy bastard."

Mr. Ffoulkes cleared his throat loudly shaking her from her visions of being alone, unloved, unwanted, and working for the Douchebag for the rest of her life. "Madam Granger, as necessary as this meeting has been, I believe we're wasting time. You're courting disaster the longer you allow your company to remain in Muggle London." He peered out the enchanted window and estimated another four hours before the sun began to set.

"In my professional legal opinion, if you don't move your labs right now, you truly will be fucked. You cannot risk the Muggle or the wizarding authorities gate-crashing and seizing your labs as evidence. And if your business does not exist, Mr. Hopper will not be able to substantiate his claim as well."

His deep rumbling fatherly voice and coarse words pierced through her migraine to the part of her brain that itched to be triggered into action. She needed to protect her cub, and if that meant moving dens, then so be it. If any of her classmates had been around they would have noticed the maniacal glint in her eyes as her head snapped up to attention.

She readily agreed, then asked, "What about the lawsuit itself? Can I not even fight it?"

Mr. Ffoulkes smiled jovially; his eyes twinkled in a way that reminded Hermione of her beloved Headmaster. "Naturally, we'll fight this battle, Madam Granger. Once your labs have been cleaned out, I'll file every petition I possibly can against him in the Muggle courts to keep him so painfully entrenched in motions, he'll spend whatever measly settlement he may receive paying his lawyers to sort it all out. It may take years, Madam Granger," he conspiratorially winked.

"Meanwhile, I intend to play the same game he is, only better. Much better. I'll have the Aurors go after him for magical exposure to the Muggle world. And I do believe you know a few Aurors in high places. Are you not good friends with the department head? I'm certain we can find a way to knot him up good."

"Why, yes… that'll work nicely." A predatory Hermione exhaled, feeling giddy and eager to twist the knife into Hopper. "Does anyone have any suggestions on the move, then?"

She'd been looking for ages for a larger new location for Granger Industries and always come up woefully short, but she'd shrink everything down into doll house size and pack it underneath her bed for good rather than let her life's work get taken away from her.

"There's some new construction out in Hogsmeade. I don't know if anything's available," Tattings offered helpfully.

"Nonsense," Ffoulkes broke through, "I think it should be obvious; the Prince Homestead is an ideal choice. It's secret-kept, the surrounding structures should be plenty large, and you're already obliged to move there anyway. Although you may not appreciate living so close to where you work."

Obviously Ffoulkes did not know Hermione as well as he thought.

She furrowed her brow, "Did you say it's secret-kept?"

"Do you honestly believe Severus would have left it wide open for the Ministry to trample through any time they felt like it?"

Hermione quickly shook her head, "No, of course not. Am I to assume you're the Secret-Keeper, or that you at least know who is?"

She knew Severus was leery of the Fidelius charm. As she understood it from the last chapter he'd written, Severus had stood guard and quietly protected his tormentor Sirius Black from harm, believing he was indirectly keeping the Potters safe.

"That I do. I suggest we meet back here in two hours. I'll have my assistant arrange for a moving crew for your labs. If we work quickly we can have everything packed up and in the Homestead by morning."

Hermione nodded an affirmative. She didn't feel the need to ask Severus' permission; she knew he'd support the move, especially given the circumstances. She wasn't particularly worried about leaving her flat either. She owed more rent on it, but for the moment Hermione wasn't hurting for cash. She had more than plenty to last her several lifetimes in both worlds. At least until Hopper got his mitts on it. Truth be told, Hermione was feeling overwhelmed by an excitement that was quickly building.

It was an exhilaration she really hadn't felt since her wild dragon ride in the bowels of Gringotts. After the war, the surging, rushing feeling that tingled through her body simply disappeared. She'd sought out adrenaline highs from several sources, but nothing felt genuine when she was chasing it in a monitored, controlled situation.

The thrill of sex with Charlie in public places, knowing full well they could be found at any moment, wasn't nearly as exciting, knowing they could Obliviate any intruders. (And she'd screamed for hours when he had.) Throwing herself passionately into her work held its own stimulation, but there really weren't any serious consequences to failure. She wouldn't make as much profit. Big deal. She wasn't very material, and she enjoyed spending her money on people and experiences, rather than on things that sat and collected dust. What was the point of having oodles of cash, if she just bought crap with it?

For the first time in a long time, Hermione had no idea what was going to happen to her and everything she'd worked towards. The fear was real and palpable, it gripped her in her chest and squeezed until she struggled to breathe. At the same time her cheeks flushed with an infusion of blood.

Taking her leave, she quickly Apparated to her modest flat. It had been the first place she could truly call her own; she had moved in while still working out of the Weasleys' garage and hardly had a knut to her name. The furniture was mismatched, and came either from rummage shops or a Scandinavian company that used what looked like Arithmancy diagrams for assembly instructions, but it was home.

Hermione concentrated her thoughts entirely on packing. She didn't wonder what kind of accommodations she'd find at the Homestead, or how she might inform her employees. Hermione simply channeled. Her wand flew through the air in quick precise movements, and by the time the last potholder and scrap of parchment were packed away, a gloss of perspiration covered her body and her wand was humming from exertion. She hadn't felt so magically exhausted and completely energized in years.

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter title: Illegitimis Nil Carborundum - Don't let the bastards grind you down

Three cheers for Christev20 for her crazy-mad beta skills. She keeps me sane too... big added bonus.  
And another round of Huzzahs for aberlioness for Brit-picking this chapter to make sure the legal jargon wasn't off mark. Many thank you's my dear!

Thanks to all who've reviewed too. You make this story a success. -AV


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 34 - Omnia Mea Mecum Porto **

She met Mr. Ffoulkes back at the appointed time ferrying twelve little boxes containing her, well… everything. In short order the wards to Granger Industries were down and a small invading army of hired hands packed, crated, and reduced her labs. Utterly knackered, they were ready to start loading the first wave of crates around midnight.

Ffoulkes commanded in a rich voice tipped with fatigue, "Daisy, you are summoned."

Hermione shrieked and jumped as a squat brown house-elf in a dumpy blue tea towel popped in. "Scared the crap out of me," she murmured quietly.

Daisy's wide round eyes quickly filled with tears, her ears flattened, and Hermione readily imagined the elf ironing her hands or some other grisly self-castigation. "It's alright, it's fine, it's not your fault, Daisy!" Hermione said hastily, her arms waving, desperately pleading with the creature, "Please don't punish yourself over me."

Daisy giggled and blushed, twisting and tugging on the skirts of her tea towel. "The soiled Mudblood cares for Daisy!" she clapped excitedly.

"Fantastic," Hermione breathed. "Just what I need, another prejudiced house-elf."

"Daisy," Ffoulkes interjected, "This is Madam Hermione Granger. She is married to Mr. Snape, Master of the Prince Homestead. Do you recognize her as your true Mistress?"

Daisy nodded, still wringing her hands on her skirts. For a moment Hermione was struck by awe for the power and incomprehensible nature of magical creatures. She remembered quite clearly the day when, while holding their collective breaths, the Order waited for Kreature to recognize Harry as the heir to Grimmauld Place. Their innate ability to know and recognize their 'Master' (she still shuddered at that word) was a source of wonder. And a bit of brilliance.

Hermione had a bit of new found respect for Severus. House-elves were incorruptible and nearly infallible in their support and blind dedication to their masters. To utilize one as a Secret-Keeper was ingenious. She supposed more wizards probably didn't entrust their elves with such things not because they were unreliable, but because most wizards were simply too arrogant to consider the subhuman creatures worthy.

"Fine then, will you please escort Madam Granger to the Homestead and allow the workmen access to the grounds to move her in."

Daisy curtsied and shot a terrified look towards Hermione, as a pale bluish tinged light wound its way towards her and wrapped around her body causing an unnatural shiver to run down Hermione's spine. Daisy's squeaky voice reverberated between her ears, 'The Prince Homestead is located On the Green at Hugh Town, Isle of Scilly.'

Dazed, Hermione only managed a bemused, "Wha-?" before being shot like a tightly coiled spring across space. Mercifully, she avoided stumbling when she instantly reappeared hundreds of miles away on a windy wide open lawn.

"Huh… I guess this is the green," Hermione remarked, surveying what her eyes could perceive of the sweeping landscape. Nothing was visible except for a few lights in the distance, but the sound of ocean swells dragging and battering against the craggy coastline was clearly audible.

Hermione took a deep steadying breath and salt sea air filled her lungs. "Shit," she muttered. Scilly. She might as well have been stuck at the ass-end of the world. Although to many people, Cornwall was the ass-end of the world. To Hermione it meant exhausting long distance Apparitions to get to meetings, or to visit Severus.

"Of course Scilly," Hermione supplied to herself, "where else would one put a self-important wizarding estate?"

Historically speaking, for wizards and Muggles alike, the islands were renowned to be one of the locations of Lyonesse - the supposed mythological kingdom of Guinevere from the Arthurian legends. Realistically, it was as good excuse as any to create a bit of tourism to keep the impoverished area out of the red. Which was a good thing, because as far as Hermione knew the only other thing the area had going for it was booze smuggling and terribly interesting mineral rocks.

Hermione turned around in the pitch darkness, trying to make out the even darker mass of her new home and again saw nothing, but the nothing rippled. She stared blankly into the darkness, allowing herself to resolutely believe that something was there so that her mind would accept the subliminal suggestion and not the trickery of the enchantments. The landscape rippled faster, coalescing into something, and Hermione remembered standing in front of a cart in a mall that sold optical illusions. She had stared intently at the wobbly pixels until finally, her eyes relaxing and going slightly crossed, she had seen a sail boat. Relaxing and allowing her eyes to slightly cross, Hermione saw a Homestead.

Roughly 600 nautical miles away from the ass-end of Britain, Severus Snape attempted to pace his cell. Pacing a cell not large enough for a decent stretch was difficult enough, but now with Hermione's comfortable bed and leather armchair filling up the cramped space, it was downright impossible. Not that he'd give up either. She was late. She was way past late. And Severus was furious.

No, that wasn't quite right either. Severus well beyond incensed. He imagined curling his fingers around her neck, that pretty column of flesh that begged to be kissed. And after shaking the fear of unholy hell into her, he was going to bite that neck, where it joined her shoulder. Bend her over the end of the sleigh bed where her plump arse would look so inviting and… no.

Severus was pissed. Filled with impotent rage.

He stopped mid-stride.

In what felt like an entirely different lifetime ago, Severus distinctly remembered being told that as Master of the Prince Homestead he'd be able to sense the activities and goings-on of his household, much as the Headmasters of Hogwarts were able to feel the presence of the castle. At the time he hadn't thought much about it, but as his fingers curled into a fist Severus felt _her_ presence.

It was unlike any other familiar sensation he'd ever had, even during his brief tenure as Headmaster when he initially felt as though thousands of ants were crawling all over him and his castle simultaneously. He knew if he ignored it long enough the awareness would fade into the back of his consciousness as a dry buzz in the back of his head.

Severus just hoped if he focused his concentration upon her, the awareness wouldn't die away. It would be a wonderful way of tracking his sometimes-errant wife. If he knew her moods ahead of her visits he could work that information to his advantage. He never had the ability to sense anyone's moods while at Hogwarts given the sheer number of people and size of the castle, but Hermione as a lone individual rang out across the divide. The wards were designed to allow the Master of the Homestead complete reign over the entire manor. Like most wizarding families, his had missed the entire Enlightenment completely, so there were still all sorts of dandy things he could do as the Master. Well, not while he was domiciled outside of the Manor proper, but were he living there Severus could give the order to have her locked away, and the house would respond appropriately. Rights for witches, house-elves, and peoples of less noble blood status were hardly a concern.

His own Muggle father had been a tyrant, but it was a lifestyle his mother had been raised to accept. She never complained when he beat her or shut her away. His Mum had disapproved when he'd taken his drunken anger out her child, but never interfered on his behalf. Eileen could not bring herself to contradict the edicts of her husband, the Master of the Slum. And he had no need for a wand to control her.

She was raised in the proper pure-blood fashion of the day and had her spirit broken at an early age. It was training that prepared witches for the roles they were to take as subservient wife and mother. Hermione had taunted him once about his relationship with Kathleen. She'd meant to be insulting by suggesting that he'd been embarrassed to shack up with a half-blood in front of his Death Eater brethren. If only she knew. Severus never spared a glance towards any of the pure-blooded princesses that strutted through the Slytherin common room trolling for potential husbands. He knew their purpose, and so did they. A witch without a soul hardly appealed. Hermione was not soulless.

Thank the Gods Hermione wasn't soulless. He swore he'd never break her. He might one day kill her, but he'd never break her.

Monitor her via the Master's privilege? Oh yes, that was something he could manage. He would pour his concentration into strengthening this bond to feel her. He knew from his mercifully short-lived days as Headmaster he could hone in on an individual and read what was going on. No, this was one gift he wouldn't allow to go fallow. This was a superb opportunity to follow her comings and goings, to be closer, and live vicariously with his little wife.

This was much more intimate, overwhelming. Severus felt only Hermione, sensed her apprehension. He could taste her curiosity and anticipation. Something was happening that caused her great fear and terrific giddiness. She was stressed. Severus frowned, she was stressed, but obviously happy. He smiled as he felt her walk into a few rooms and knew she approved. As Severus grasped at the sensations the tingling wards fed him he could feel her physical and magical exhaustion.

The wards came alive.

Then, his bleedin' Homestead opened for all and sundry.

"Fuck!"

He wasn't going to get any peace.

Throughout the night and the wee early hours of the dawn Severus tossed and turned, grinding his teeth and growling to himself and his four walls. Torn between being completely livid and insatiably curious with his witch. _What is she doing? Who the hell are the trespassers trodding all over his house? And what the fuck are they doing? _

Hermione had finally decided to make herself at home after all these months, and to celebrate she invited everyone she knew for a sleep-over. Or at least it felt as if the entire property had been thrown open wide, the public and all neighbors invited in as dozens of wizards Apparated in and out as if his ancestral home were the bloody Leaky Cauldron.

Somewhere near eight thirty the next morning, all activity promptly ceased and the wards reengaged. Severus took a staggering step and leaned against his armchair for support. He had a migraine to end all migraines. Light bothered his eyes. The vacant hollow sound of Azkaban rang loudly in his ears, but as Severus hobbled into bed he was dumbstruck by her closeness. He could feel her drop down, and knew she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. He had never felt so connected to anyone in his life and was near tears as he gripped his own pillow and welcomed sleep.

Hermione's eyes gently fluttered open to greet the morning, though even her sleepy brain helpfully supplied that it was well into the afternoon. She was still exhausted and wanted nothing more than to nestle deep into the soft goose down pillows she was generously supplied, but she just knew she was expected to act like a responsible adult. Responsible adults didn't laze in bed for hours even though they stayed up all night. While in the middle of the North Sea, Severus felt her get up. He cracked an eyelid and chose to laze in bed.

Crooks gave a loud contented Meow, as he was obviously happy about something and wanted to share the good news with his mistress. Hermione was thrilled he was padding around the place, but hoped his good spirits weren't due to any doxy colonies living in the curtains. One experience with those blighters was more than enough.

Satisfactorily up, on her feet, and awake, even if in her smelly clothing from the night before, Hermione stretched again and looked around for a door that might take her to a loo. Inwardly she crossed her fingers that a loo would appear instead of 'ye olde chamberpot.' Her hasty assessment of the house from the night before was that the place was probably built sometime during Elizabeth's reign, or at least it was kept up to appear that way. It was a best guess, given the copious amounts of walnut paneling, narrow rooms with impossibly high ceilings, and Tudor touches.

At least it was relatively well maintained, or at least not falling down. It seemed as if the elves had kept the place clean, which was a very good thing indeed. If left unattended for long periods of time, house-elves tended to gravitate to the last order given, so if someone had specifically said to wash the windows, the windows may have been completely immaculate, but the rest of the place utterly saturated in dust and grime. The dark and sometimes painted wood paneling that followed the entire house hadn't been wiped down in a long time and had a rather dull finish, but the odd rugs that randomly dotted the floors and sat atop tables were spotless.

There was no telling how old the foundations were. But, as she resolutely told herself in an attempt to keep a cheerful countenance, Hogwarts was built over a thousand years ago and even it had indoor plumbing… and a basilisk haunting the plumbing, but that was neither here nor there.

After turning a few latches (no knobs) she found what supposedly passed for the privy, and what was supposed to be the sink. "Oh Severus, you bastard!" she ground out to herself, "Five thousand galleons isn't nearly enough." The tap was cold, it shuddered and groaned, and the water had its very own color. Water wasn't supposed to do that.

She dug in her bottomless satchel and managed to put together enough toiletries and emergency supplies to feel comparatively human, or at a minimum decently dressed to meet the day, and congratulated herself on always traveling with emergency supplies. But then after years of mothering teenage boys who couldn't match socks, or even think to pack them for an extended jaunt through the woods, she'd grown accustomed to carrying her own provisions.

The first hurdle was to assess her situation, and then hopefully find a bit of nosh. For that she needed a house-elf.

"Daisy," Hermione timidly called out, feeling very self conscious about burdening a servant.

Daisy appeared before her and curtsied, "Mistress scum of the earth Mudblood has requested Daisy?"

Hermione's mouth quirked several times, before settling on an amused grin. She'd seen and heard the other elves grumbling about blood of the dirt sullying the proud house of Prince the night before as the labs were uncrated, but never had she actually heard anyone call her a Mudblood in such a sweetly endearing manner. Daisy's eyes were shining with warmth and the eagerness to be helpful, found in most house-elves.

"I'd like you to introduce me to the other elves and help me get accustomed to the Homestead. Could you do that for me, please?"

"Please?" Daisy shrilly questioned, cocking her head as if she'd never heard the word before. "Oh yes, Daisy would be so happy to show the whore of man around!" Daisy twirled around and clapped her hands, her mouth split wide in a gruesome smile of jagged teeth.

"Great," Hermione gritted out. She followed Daisy through a series of connecting doors, as the house itself did not have any hallways, and found herself rather abruptly in a great hall. By the darkened wood flooring she guessed it was the oldest part of the home, and the cathedral timbered ceilings took her breath away. The dried rushes on the floor left much to be desired, but the effect was nevertheless inspiring.

Daisy appeared to concentrate for a moment and the hall filled with the soft popping sound of elf apparition. "Oh dear Lord," Hermione whispered under her breath, absolutely unnerved by the sheer amount of staff she now employed. As one entity the household bowed low, some of the more mischievous elves baring their wicked teeth as utterances of Mudblood could be heard. Hermione hardly paid attention.

The word had ceased to antagonize her years ago. It was more than just 'sticks and stones' (although whoever came up with that little rhyme was obviously unaware that a good hexing using choice curse words could indeed hurt… and maim…), and she had finally arrived at a place in her life where she felt self-confident enough not to give a damn about what people thought of her. Especially narrow-minded people.

Bigoted house-elves were something entirely different.

"Listen up, and listen well. The next house-elf to use the word Mudblood will be issued clothing. I will not tolerate such disparaging remarks made about myself, Muggles, or any guests I may bring here. Is that understood?"

There was a rushing of high pitched murmurs that swept the congregated elves, but Hermione declared victory and felt immense satisfaction as they all nodded in agreement.

Daisy cleared her throat, "Mistress, spawn of trolls and sluts who lie with beasts," she said proudly gesturing towards the gathering, "Daisy presents the Prince Household."

Hermione plastered on a smile. She was going to kill her husband. Nail his testicles to a post and beat him senseless. He knew. He had to have known, and didn't bother to mention a thing. Lovely.

"This is me mate, Donald." Donald bowed low and twitched his oversized ears.

"Donald and Daisy, how cute," she muttered. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Donald."

"Thank you Mistress. I is looking forward to serving the shameful sin that trespasses across our belov'd grounds."

"How nice."

"And I is Mickey!" a brown freckled elf volunteered. "I tends to the sullied Mistress' greenhouses."

"Perfect." A female green spotted elf walk forward and curtsied. "Let me guess… your name is Minnie?"

The elf's eyes went wide and wild, as she drank in deep heaving breaths. "Yes!" she screeched happily, "I is Minnie! I also tends to the filthy Mud--- um, the uh…"

"Abomination before the Gods," Hermione helpfully supplied. "Flesh of sinfulness? Foul waste of breath? How about mud, dirt, and or scum of impurity?"

Minnie eagerly nodded.

"Fine. And you tend the greenhouses, right?" Minnie examined Hermione with a look akin to wonderment, as if she were a clairvoyant or oracle of the highest order. "Dandy."

Three elves shuffled forward in step, and since she was already feeling like she had stepped into the Twilight Zone, Hermione wryly asked, "Are you here to represent the Lollipop Guild?"

The boys looked at each other and shrugged, one good-naturedly offered, "They does not have normal brains. They has polluted blood and it makes them silly and dim," before looking at Hermione and in a painfully slow enunciation, presumably for her benefit, eked out, "I is Huey."

"Stop!" she held her hand up. "Stop right there. I can't take much more of this, just give me a moment."

A chuckle born out of exhaustion and near mad hysterics from the previous day began to well up. It first came out like an unladylike snort, followed by a loud chortle. She tried to cover up her mouth, but mad cackling poured forth.

"I…" she hooted. "Oh my god…"

Hermione laughed soundly and let herself continue laughing, not giving a damn that the intolerant house-elves were pointing and no doubt commenting on her mental instability. A stitch in her side hurt, but Hermione was trying to desperately to catch her breath to care.

"You're Huey," she gasped out. "So that makes you what? Louie?" At the astounded house-elf's vigorously nodding head, Hermione continued, "So you must be Dewey… right?" she giggled.

"Oh, dear Lord," Hermione choked. "Who the hell named you?"

"Mistress?" Daisy asked with a touch of concern for her well being, as Hermione had turned quite red.

"How'd you get your names?" she sniggered.

"Why, Mistress Eileen, whore of filth who shall never alight our doorstep again, did!"

"Oh," Hermione calmed, swiping at her tearful eyes. It struck her as unbelievably funny that a house full of hate-speech espousing elves were named after much loved Muggle characters. Someone had a deep seated sense of irony. "And she was a Disney fan?"

A hushed murmur swept the hall. Hermione caught gasps of _'She knows'_ and rolled her eyes.

Daisy trembled before her, "Mistress, degenerate seed of traitors and charlatans, you know of the secret magic? The unspeakable magical world?"

"I don't know if you're talking about the Magical World of Disney or the Magic Kingdom, but I'm quite familiar with both, thank you very much," Hermione said with a superior smirk.

In what would be written down in her journal as one of the most surreal experiences of her life, Hermione found herself knee high in a sea of overjoyed jumping, cheering house-elves.

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A/N:

Chapter title: Omnia Mea Mecum Porto - All that is mine, I carry with me. (Cicero) It means, 'my wisdom is my greatest wealth,' but it suited for a 'moving' chapter.

Would you believe that my fantastic beta Christev20 actually studied the grammar and syntax of JKR's house-elves to make sure their speech for this fic was spot-on with the original? She did. I told you she rocks.

Thanks for reading. Please be a love and leave a review! -AV


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 35 - Nemo Repente Fuit Turpissimus**

As it turned out, there wasn't any food at the Homestead. The elves were accustomed to eating tasteless, parboiled root vegetables grown in a small plot in one of the greenhouses, but that did not sound appetizing in the very least. And there was nothing in the larder that Hermione would term edible, which invariably reminded her that her dear husband was languishing in prison and had only revolting prison slop to eat as well. So while the merry band of house-elves scrubbed, polished, and opened up the stifling house, all the while singing _'Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo,'_ Hermione went out to grab supplies and check on Severus.

Severus was hunched over his lap desk, his back steadily protesting the abuse as he furiously wrote intimate details of his life. Hermione's absence had incensed him, and prodded him into reliving some of the uglier moments of his very ugly life.

He didn't trust Portkeys he hadn't made. He never expected reinforcements to arrive on time or at all. He believed the worst would happen. He always carried a backup wand and knife. He hated people sneaking up on him, and had had only had one 'Surprise' birthday party. Once was enough. He suspected the Dark Lord had other informants within the Order. He had no faith in the Ministry's wheels of justice. He anticipated Fidelius Charms would be betrayed. He never uncorked a wine he wasn't prepared to finish nor hexed someone he wasn't prepared to kill.

And yet, as he poured his soul, small and ugly that it was, into sheaths of parchment, he mastered the niggling voice of paranoia. He would write it all. All the filth and sordid details, the unfiltered truth, everything. If history was going to make a morality tale out of his pathetic life, they had best get it right. He heard her footsteps in the corridors; she was accompanied this time by the Mulciber boy who lumbered alongside her quick stride. Severus put down the quill that had detailed the torture of the Longbottoms and awaited her arrival.

He was not in a good mood.

"Four meals, Hermione!" he raged as he spread his arms out wide for the guard, demonstrating he was unarmed. "That's four meals I've now missed, witch. I hope for your sake you've brought me something decent." His sensitive nose had already detected the aroma of pizza, and his taste buds were screaming for another bit of ale.

"Relax, Severus," she called out, bumping the cell door closed with her hips, her arms laden with pizza boxes and beer. "One would think you've never spent a day in prison, the way you're going on."

"What happened? Why did you abruptly stop visiting, and what possessed you to move into the Homestead in the middle of the bloody night?"

"You knew about that?" she gaped, sloughing her flats off and hopping onto the bed.

"Obviously," Severus droned, greedily cracking open a bitter. "As Master of the Homestead I felt your presence." He was not going to elaborate if she asked. Knowing Hermione, if she knew the Homestead was feeding him intelligence on her coming and goings, she'd find a way to subvert it. And that was not at all in keeping with his plans.

"But how? You know what? Never mind, I don't care. That's quite a place you've got there, though. Donald and Daisy, eh?"

"Ah. Mum. She lived more in her fantasy world than real life, and she was always was nutters for Disney," he replied wistfully. "Some Great Uncle So-and-So used to sneak her out to see the movies and bought her accompanying comics and whatnot. I think that's how she fell in love with the Muggle world. Too bad she fell in love with a Muggle. He was a right shit."

He ignored the incensed glare Hermione shot him when he disparaged his Muggle father. It was as if she took the insult personally every time he said anything against a Muggle, which was really absurd. There was no reason at all to get her little nose out of joint over a little Muggle-bashing when nobody was getting hurt. And she did not have the right to speak on behalf of every Muggle or take responsibility for their actions. Aside from which, wizards could be just as rotten, underhanded, and dangerous as Muggles, but still he surmised, Hermione took it all so damn personally. And the idea that she should get offended on behalf of his own horse's ass father, who'd likely not spare any kindness towards her was, well, really quite funny. Were he still alive and had the opportunity to meet his daughter-in-law, Tobias would likely have felt up her tits and invited her to have a go, as a welcome to the family.

"So I gathered from your book." At his startled look, Hermione added, "What? You didn't honestly believe I wouldn't look at it, did you? Of course I read your work."

"And?" he fished.

"It's acceptable. Exceeds Expectations," she teased.

Severus scowled darkly and hid his face behind an inky veil of hair. "I knew it was rubbish."

"Oh please, it's absolutely fantastic and you know it. Although I was tempted to return it to you with nasty comments slashed through it like you used to write all over my essays. I wouldn't, though."

"If only because you're too tender-hearted to state the truth," he spat as if the sentiment itself was foul on his lips. "It's crap."

"No, you dunderhead," Hermione smiled, enjoying his reaction to her term of endearment. "Because it really is brilliant. And sweet. Funny, too, for that matter."

Severus threw his head back against the headboard and sighed deeply. "It doesn't matter; it'll never be finished. I have no ending."

"Pardon?"

He gestured to several thick rolls of parchment. "There's no ending to it."

"Severus, you're going to have to give me more than that if you expect me to follow you."

"What the hell am I supposed to write, Hermione? Should I switch to present tense and remark that I'm currently resting my pale ass on a springy mattress, hoping that my witch will bring me another issue of _Prospective Potions Periodical_? Should I mention that I have no future goals? No ambitions? No future, period? Or should I end with, 'I'm not dead yet!'"

"Well, I rather like that. Reminds me of a line from a Monty Python movie."

"You're bloody useless, you know that!" he raged, tugging his hair back with long raking fingers. His mouth set in a cruel glower.

"Oh, hush. Although I do rather like ending with 'I'm not dead yet.' It somewhat skirts the finality of your situation. Sorta hints to the reader that there's hope yet."

"In a hopeless situation," he interjected.

"Oh, so now you want out of prison. What happened to Mister I-keep-myself-here? I thought you had a lot more self-loathing to do."

"No. I doubt I'll ever leave here, or even try," Severus bitterly conceded. "I wouldn't want to burden you with my presence further. We'd be miserable together. You married me because you didn't want a real husband, remember?" He lifted his eyes and pierced her with a tender gaze filled with wretched longing. There was such an abject sadness about him; he rendered her immobile from the intensity of his hurt.

Hermione's chest filled with air, and yet she couldn't breathe, it was an acute pain that sliced through her chest. Guilt and sadness warred beneath her breastbone. Even if he made the decision to have himself exonerated, he wouldn't. For her. Hermione was utterly overwhelmed by the crushing feeling. He would give up on any possible future. Any possible happiness. For her.

That wasn't what she wanted. That wasn't what she'd asked for. If she had to sacrifice her happiness for someone else, that was one thing. As silly as it sounded, she was a Gryffindor. She was conditioned to sacrifice self for the greater good, as the highest calling of bravery. For Severus to place her needs above his own was something quite different.

"Oh," she whispered and quickly took a swig of beer, not knowing how else to break the devastating moment. "Well, um, what have you written so far?"

Severus closed his eyes, shutting Hermione out for a moment as his fingers methodically shredded the beer label from the bottle in perfectly even strips.

"I've been writing about my mates," he rasped. "I've been trying to strike a balance between the horrid reality of the crimes we committed, the pain we inflicted upon innocent people, and my mates. My brothers. We were hooligans and ruffians, absolute bastards and completely without mercy at times, but we were still people. They… they were still people. I'm no longer certain of my own humanity."

"And?" Hermione prompted thoroughly intrigued.

Severus shrugged elegantly and reached for another slice. "Pieter was really funny. Antonin's kid brother, died in a raid. Fucking Aurors butchered him. Anyway… Pieter used to have this stutter, and after a few rounds of Crucio from the Dark Lord, his stutter was really pronounced. But it was really funny. Especially when he couldn't pronounce 'Crucio' himself. He used to say 'Cr… cr… cr… cr… Crucio!' Bollox the whole damn spell up. Couldn't cast an Unforgivable to save his life."

"That's terrible!" Hermione gasped.

"Hey! It was funny at the time. I guess you just had to be there," he mumbled. "At any rate, that's how I ended up writing most of my early Death Eater days. I was trying to make them real. Show people that we were more than just idiots hiding behind our masks and our wands. Hell, most of us didn't even want to do that."

"I think that sounds perfect."

"Yeah?" he asked, sounding very uncertain and vulnerable for a man who'd worn an impenetrable mantle most of his life.

Hermione gave him a bright smile. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

After a few happy minutes of munching, Hermione finally caved and nervously told him about the Douchebag's lawsuits, moving into the Prince Homestead, and her gaggle of foul-mouthed singing elves. Severus was not amused, but understood the logic of moving Granger Industries into the Homestead. He just requested that Ffoulkes review their confidentiality clauses, especially after the Douchbag had subverted his.

He sighed wearily and lifted his beer in a silent toast. "You know in the good old days, I could have delt with that asshole myself, but I suppose the Ministry has Kissed every decent thug out there. Pity. There's something to be said about handling your problems in-house. I might have had a bit of fun with this one."

He was tempted to add he'd have him killed for her if she wanted, but doubted Hermione would approve. Then again, it seemed any scoundrel he would have trusted to do the job was dead. It was rather pathetic being the last bastard around. The end of an era of sorts. And though there were days when he wanted to peel back his own skin and scream, well... it wasn't all bad. No one Death Eater was all bad. Psychotic, perhaps, but not without a few stray redeeming qualities. Even scary Bella had her good points. Well, not in the bedroom, where she'd try to scratch a man's cock off with those pointed nails, but then any bloke stupid enough to be lured into bed with her deserved it. Severus had succumbed to her temptation once, and once was quite enough. But even Mad Bella was fantastic with children. Not that anyone would guess. During raids she'd hold them on her hips and coo gently in their ears to calm them while their parents were tortured by others. She always put herself between innocents, and if the Dark Lord ordered that all were to be killed, children included, she took the task on herself to ensure it was as quick and painless as possible. After those raids she was damn near inconsolable and took her pleasure violently on any lad who fell to her charms.

He supposed that was why he could never muster up any joy during the anniversary of the Final Battle. One of his guards, Cooley, always made it a point on that day to come by and try to rattle him with what were supposed to be stinging insults. Severus had never met a more stupid Ravenclaw. He suspected the rest of the world celebrated the day in typical fashion by filling pubs. Severus imagined ignorant wizards who no doubt never lifted a wand in battle took to the streets to get royally piss drunk and raise toasts to Harry Fucking Potter. Severus could not allow the triumph of winning overshadow the significant losses. On both sides. Standing in the middle of two opposing forces, Severus had to contend with watching his friends die at each other's hands. And he still felt like a _traitor_ to both.

"What would you have done?" Hermione asked. It did not escape Severus' attention that her eyes were wide and riveted on him, she leaned forward hanging off his every word, and a blush crept up her cheeks.

Severus arched an eyebrow towards his hungry looking wife. Perhaps she would have approved of a little blood letting. Fascinating. "I would have hunted him down, and in very plain-spoken terms let him know that if he threatened my wife or her livelihood, they would never find his corpse, but as a kind gesture, I'd make certain that his widow would have enough of him to perform a proper burial. Please understand, Hermione I would only resort to physical violence if absolutely necessary. After all, it's only sporting that he's given fair warning."

"And if he persisted, what then?" Hermione unconsciously licked her lips, and felt a thrilling rush listening to Severus describe brutal mayhem delivered in a silken purr.

He leaned forward, closer, stopping near enough to Hermione to watch her shallow pants and witness her dilated brown eyes flash, and smirked. He'd seen more than his fair share of witches creaming their knickers for bad boys, but he wasn't certain he wanted her to think of him performing acts of violence in such detail.

Severus inhaled the warm heat of pheromones wafting off of her, his talented nose picking up light traces of her arousal. Employing his most sensual drawl, Severus murmured, "Hermione, I would have made good on my threat. Nobody hurts what's mine."

His eyes narrowed and focused on her fingertips. They had flown up to her collar bone where she absentmindedly stroked the skin between her breasts and the hollow of her throat.

"Oh yes, Hermione," he spoke, his chest rumbling low, "You are _mine_."

She swallowed loudly, feeling completely penetrated and undone by his intense gaze. She knew she was burning up for him, her nipples ached beneath the cups of her bra, and a liquid warmth seeped into the crotch of her knickers. But if she stayed any longer, indulged herself in his overpowering presence, his perceptive nose would know it too. Little did she know, it was far too late for that.

"I have…" she rasped, and swallowed again, "I have to go… This was… nice, Severus. As always, thank you for your company, but I really must be going."

He smirked triumphantly as she scurried out his door and ran as if chased down the hollow flagstone hallway. Her echoing heels brought him more satisfaction than if she had stayed.

Severus was languishing in his nightshirt, dwelling on his indomitable little witch who had carved out a place for herself from the stony walls of his existence and prison cell, when he felt the wards of his Homestead quickly lowered. His breath of relief that she had safely completed the long Apparition home caught in his throat as he perceived her overwhelming arousal. It utterly blindsided him for a moment, the sheer intensity of Hermione's desire he could feel sharply, as he focused all of his awareness and energy on the witch.

Hermione was burning up, as if her years of self-denial had conspired to unleash themselves on her body and psyche at once. If she hadn't fled, she wasn't certain what she'd do to the poor wizard. Pin him to the bed sheets? Thrust herself upon him? As she wandered the dark maze of interconnecting rooms in search of her bed - any bed - those suggestions and a host of other aberrant thoughts sounded good.

Mercifully she found the small pillow-top mattress the elves had made up as a bed for her and by the armful drew the thick down filled pillows around her body. She wanted to feel entirely enveloped. Cradled. Surrounded. Hermione craved contact against her skin, even if it wasn't the lover her body screamed to embrace.

Drawing a hand down his flushed face, Severus heard her anguish, felt her insistent want, and propped his own body up on his elbows and knees, mentally covering her body with his own. Groaning softly at the feel of cotton sheets instead of her yielding hips. On its own accord his cock swelled and filled agonizingly with blood, as it ached to answer her needy call.

Hermione wriggled in bed, drawing down jeans and knickers in haste as she simultaneously tried to pull up her blouse and kick off her trainers. Her body'd been set afire. His words stroked her imagination. Severus. She couldn't get naked quick enough, Hermione needed to hold on to the moment back in his cell when she responded absolutely to his overwhelming maleness. _'A man'_ her female body screamed. _Severus._

Once more the brief mental image from long ago flashed into her mind of Severus on the floor of his cell, naked to the waist, perspiration glistening as he speedily glided through repetitions of push-ups. Her voyeuristic observation of him then - the hard planes of his stomach, his lean shoulders, the trail of hair from his navel - hadn't registered as remotely sensual to Hermione's brain at the time. But her body remembered it. Again and again.

"Shit," she whined, flinging jeans across the room and obviously knocking something over. Not that she'd get up and responsibly clean up, not now that fingers had finally found purchase of her ache.

The first hasty grab of her painfully engorged clit shot through her body and senses as nerve endings vibrated, her back lifting, arching, begging to come to completion. She plucked and flicked at the little bud, moaning and squirming to hit it just right, her eyes closed as they rolled towards the top of her head. Imagining… The vision of Severus, his head between her splayed thighs, came readily, a smug cheshire grin as he lapped at her folds seemed so right… so perfect.

"Oh Gods, I can't take this!" he cried out, rocking his hips into the mattress where only a scant half hour before her soft body had lain. His thumb pushed against the swollen pulsating vein that stretched the underside of his shaft. He could feel her building, knew she was touching herself, and could only hope, only imagine she was thinking of him. That his Vixen was crying out for his touch. Severus' palm stroked across his sensitive skin, his grip tightening as he saw himself driving into her. Hermione's slack jaw opened wide and moaning his name, taking him deep. Receiving him.

"Oh shit…" she cried, and plunged a finger quickly into her damp heat, crooking her finger to work the sensitive spot inside, her thumb still eagerly working the bundle of nerves that made her twitch and shake. Her head thrashed, and her hips bucked of their own accord, but it wasn't quite enough. Her sex responded as Hermione madly drove three fingers in. In her mind she pictured Severus grinding atop her, his scent, his dark eyes locked onto hers, his flesh pressing against her… her fingers weren't enough… not nearly enough… As her voice broke and she shrilly called out into the empty room for him, Hermione stiffened and shuddered.

"Hermione," he roughly panted, as thick milky jets of his essence hit the mattress.

Severus rolled over on his back, unconcerned about the wet spot, and stared at the ceiling through heavy eyelids. He could feel her sated rest, as Hermione hugged a pillow and buried her head into the covers. In the morning he'd work on rationalizing their relationship. In the morning he'd worry about what this might mean for them. But for the moment, sleep. Severus' eyes closed firmly as sleep quickly overtook him.

Hermione wasn't so lucky. She spent the night sated, but frustrated. Angry. Not for giving over to the urge to masturbate. No, there was nothing wrong with masturbating. It was perfectly healthy and normal. Especially since Severus would never find out that she touched herself, much less that she fantasized about him while she did it.

Her frustration stemmed from an entirely different direction. Three fingers weren't enough. Not nearly. There was no substitute for a good hard fuck. There was nothing in the world like a warm velvety cock sliding home. Nothing like the first piercing thrust that always made her breath catch. Not even generously sized, humming, rotating, battery-operated cocks fit the bill.

Yes, she had brought herself to orgasm, the first in several years. But it many ways it was pathetic and sad, and hardly deserved to be called an orgasm. Without the warm rush of a wizard's come wetting her core, it just wasn't the same. It was completion without satisfaction.

Hermione was screwed, and not in a good way.

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A/N:  
Chapter title: Nemo Repente Fuit Turpissimus - No one ever became thoroughly bad in one step. (Juvenal)

Contest: Oh-no! Severus' book doesn't have a title. Won't you help him out? Send your one (1) suggestion for Severus' book title via email to apollinawrites(at)gmail(dot)com for submission. Entries sent as reviews will not be accepted. All entries must be received no later than Midnight Eastern time Wednesday 11 February 2009. You will receive credit for your title, and a 'walk-on' cameo. The winning entry will be selected by ApollinaV (author), Christev20 (beta), TenderQuaintWitch (theology-picker), and aberlioness (brit-picker).

Additionally, I'm informed that there may be some Monty Python virgins out there who've never seen the Bring Out Your Dead sketch from Holy Grail, and won't otherwise get the reference. Here's a link to the clip on Youtube: www(dot)youtube(dot)com(slash)watch?v=grbSQ6O6kbs

Beta's Note:  
Christev20 would like to add thanks for the lovely reviews from Apollina's wonderful readers. I think I've got the best of it. For the price of a few commas, semi-colons and capital letters, I get flowers laid at my feet; I'm given ponies, kisses, Honeydukes truffles, even (ahem) pearl earrings. Best of all, I get to read ahead and see all the juicy bits coming up. Believe me, Apollina's got _lots _in store for her readers and for our favorite characters!


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 36 - Nullus Est Instar Domus**

Ostensibly she knew that 'Homestead' was a puffed up word meaning farm.

It had taken a bit before she had become accustomed to the amusing idea of Severus' forefathers being farmers. The word 'farm' conjured images of golden haystacks of wheat, lazy spotted cows grazing in the yard, certainly chickens at the very least. And though the mental image of anyone resembling Severus Snape milking a cow or wearing overalls was enough to give her a fit of giggles, there wasn't a single bovine in sight.

Apparently, wizards didn't 'do' that sort of thing. Must have been too Mugglishly common.

But an impromptu tour by Mickey did yield long rows of greenhouses and elves milling about with hoes and rakes slung over their shoulders. Hermione stifled the urge to sing _'Hi-Ho!'_

Inside, Hermione was appalled to discover that nearly every viable space for planting was reserved for the Prince family's prized potions ingredients, which included towering seven foot _Mimbulus mimbletonias_, and more snapping Venomous Tentaculas than she'd ever laid eyes on. Proportionately, the elves had only a small plot of arable land to grow their turnips. Hermione pursed her lips when she saw their well tended earth. In truth she wasn't much surprised. Pure-bloods were notoriously stingy when it came to the needs of their loyal servants, but it still disgusted her.

"Come, Mistress deceitful Jezebel," Mickey cheerfully beckoned with an outstretched clawed hand. "Come see the farm."

Tentatively, Hermione reached for Mickey's hand, and she was whisked in a single chilling breath into a cold chamber before she could register what was happening. She blinked and scrubbed her eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light. Hermione realized she was standing in a vast damp underground cave.

"Oh, dear," Hermione remarked wide-eyed.

Dark wet fur crept up the cavern walls, nestled into stalactites and stalagmites, while in the center of the chamber gigantic pulsing mushrooms grew on stacked shelves. She could make out several elves misting and raking the walls.

"Mistress must keep to the path," Mickey cautioned as he flicked on a dim head lamp, "We does not want the valuable lichen tainted by your foul wretched impurity."

Hermione snorted loudly and wound along the slick path, following Mickey's bobbing lamp. Even as she marveled at the thick carpeting of lichen attached to every visible space she couldn't help but think she'd never bring a single Weasley down there to see it. There was no way she'd allow any of them to see how close their wild imaginations had come to describing Snape's home. There wasn't any point in reinforcing bad stereotypes and obtuse clichés, no matter how comically correct.

Her tour of the underground cave complex led her into several similar chambers of lichen, one of which had its own vibrating hum coming from what appeared to be shivering hairs. Hermione wasn't certain; she didn't know if she wanted to squint hard enough to find out. Another chamber was dedicated to the drying and packing process, and several chambers were filled to bursting with packed cans, boxes, and tins of the finished product all waiting to be moved to market.

Hermione quirked her brow and asked the obviously proud Mickey, "How often does your distributor pick up all of this?"

"Mistress?" Mickey flattened his ears, apprehensive of incurring her wrath for not knowing how to answer her question.

She paused and bit her lip trying to find an appropriate way of phrasing the question. "What happens now, Mickey? Where do all these boxes go?"

"Go?" he trembled.

"Yes, go. You've been crating and labeling them for sale. How do you get them to market? Has nobody managed all this mess since the last Prince died?"

Mickey's knees knocked together loudly as he shivered in fear. "Mickey does not know, Mistress of waste and wretchedness! Mickey is not knowing! Bad Mickey! Bad! Bad Mickey!"

As Mickey tried to impale his face on the closest available stalagmite, Hermione desperately tried to calm the trembling elf and pull him back.

"That's enough of that," she crooned, tenderly stroking his weeping form. With a surreptitious flick of her wand he was cleaned and mended.

Glancing upwards at the towering boxes Hermione wondered what she would do with this fine kettle of fish. She hadn't any idea of the market value of thousands of boxes of mushrooms and lichen, but pending Severus' approval she'd liquidate, and find distributors who could take their product global. Naturally, Severus would bank the profit… which would be useful if the Douchebag did manage to clean her out.

But the resulting cavernous space was precisely what she was looking for. Large, protected, and undeniably secure. It was also dark, dank, and more than slightly mildewy smelling, but it was still serviceable. After thorough renovations, it might be impossible to tell that it wasn't some disturbing underground cave.

"Let's get to the surface; this place is giving me the creeps."

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the sprawling house. In some ways it reminded her of the Burrow on a grand scale, as additional wings and floors had been randomly and haphazardly constructed with little attention paid to the overall structure or atmosphere. Although Hermione had to admit the Princes had class. It was as if when they had the extra dosh, someone said, 'Hey, let's build another salon,' and they did.

The portraiture still left much to be desired. She could feel their hawkish eyes following her as she explored. Their hissing whispers trailed her wake, but if she approached any of them, they said nothing. Apparently it was deemed unnecessary and unworthy to speak to her, and they allowed their tightly set lips and disdainful hauteur to communicate instead. Hermione was unimpressed and rather imagined that for all their petty airs, their appearances suggested a lineage thick with sheep thieves and potato pickers.

At least it wasn't too terribly tacky, unlike some Pure-blood mansions she'd seen.

The dark earthen tones weren't entirely warm and welcoming, but at least it wasn't rococo gilded frothy pinks and powder blues, a la Malfoy Manor. Hermione didn't know if she could have dealt with something like the pretentious Louis XIV festooned Maison.

The only positive that she could say about her sole excursion to the Malfoy home was that she left her mark on it by violently heaving all over their tacky pastel rug. Granted, it was during a particularly nasty bout of the Cruciatus Curse, but in some ways Hermione was still rather proud of herself.

The saddest moment of her day was when she discovered that the room she'd originally been given by the elves was nothing more than a scullery maid's accommodations. Many things were about to change in the Prince household. Moving to the Master's chambers was only the first. It was, after all, no longer the Prince Homestead. It was all hers.

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A/N:

Chapter title: Nullus Est Instar Domus - There is no place like home

Comparably this is a short chapter, but it is what it is.

I'm still taking entries for the contest:

Oh-no! Severus' book doesn't have a title. Won't you help him out? Send your one (1) suggestion for Severus' book title via email to apollinawrites(at)gmail(dot)com for submission. Entries sent as reviews will not be accepted. All entries must be received no later than Midnight Eastern time Wednesday 11 February 2009. You will receive credit for your title, and a 'walk-on' cameo. The winning entry will be selected by ApollinaV (author), Christev20 (beta), TenderQuaintWitch (theology-picker), and aberlioness (brit-picker).

The lovely and talented Christev beta'd this chapter and ensured no salmonella-tainted product went from the floors to market.

Thank you for reading, please consider leaving a review. AV


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 37 - Nulla Vit Melior Quam Bona**

The Douchebag's lawsuits were an ever present black cloud hanging over her days, giving her fits of headaches, and making an effing mess of absolutely everything, but her initial panic was gone. After all, Hermione believed in karma. He'd get his, and Ffoulkes was doing an admirable job to ensure it. She still wasn't pleased about having to abruptly uproot everything and flee in the middle of the night like war-driven refugees. Certainly her employees had their own opinions about relocating to Cornwall. She lost three excellent production workers because they refused to commute.

Losing three workers wasn't anything close to the ass-pain she felt losing two months of production time to construction efforts. Two months of down time was unacceptable. Hermione had grumbled, albeit good-naturedly, about shutting down the production line for the holidays, and the week of restructuring. This two month hiatus from production was marked by an irritable Hermione, the likes of which had only been seen when she was tromping around in a leaky tent with a grotty piece of Voldemort's soul slung around her neck. Severus wisely avoided her wrath by keeping his head down and his eyes to his parchment as he took to writing his book when she was in one of her moods. He was able to finish most of his literary griping about teaching the slack-jawed fuckwits who regularly tried to blow up the school while she was on a tear. He was even able to get started on his miserable year as Headmaster just by channeling her tirades through the wards.

She finally approached him regarding the lichen farm, with well calculated graphs and flow charts detailing market research and proposals, including a suggestion of slapping 'Death Eater' approved sticker on the labels. Severus was not amused. Hermione was dead serious. Market research showed they would be able to move thirty percent more product if it had a Death Eater endorsement. Just because the Ministry was hell-bent on sanitizing the wizarding world from Dark forces didn't mean the interest had evaporated. As for the product itself, the _Ephebe lanata_ was used nearly exclusively in Dark potionry. The rare magical form of the _Sarcoscypha coccinea_, or scarlet elf cup, was pretty to look, at and deadly. And well, the _Cladonia rangiferina_, or reindeer lichen, had no bloody use at all - except, that is, if you were a reindeer. In which case it was fantastically delicious, and that was of no help, but she had towering mountains of the stuff. A Death Eater promotion would really go a long way towards selling it, at least until people figured out it was expensive reindeer feed. But Severus would not budge. Hermione even got a warning eyebrow that told her to stop trifling. It was followed by a gutter growl that effectively ended the conversation.

Otherwise, he was supportive of moving the product. His cursory inspection of his newly purchased property hadn't brought him below ground, and the real estate witch hadn't mentioned it. So he hadn't known it was there. All in all, it was an unexpected windfall in his favor. Which Severus took to mean that the rug was about to get pulled from underneath him because he never had windfalls in his favor. The Gods were only just lining up their shots and getting ready to sink him. It made him want to horde salt and ring his bed with it, just in case.

So, with Severus' blessing, Hermione went forward with clearing out the stock. After finding appropriate distributors for her mountains of icky harvested lichen and dried mushrooms, she found herself with four enormous vaulted caves. The icky lichen and mushrooms hit international markets and sold well enough. The useless reindeer lichen even qualified for a grant and was reintroduced back into the local environment under the Biodiversity Action Plan. And profits went directly into Severus' Gringotts account. This was a calculated move, so that if the Douchebag ever did manage to completely clear her out, she had a safety net.

However, Hermione considered the spacious vaulted caverns to be the real profit. And she was eager to move Granger Industries into the new space. Even with an army of hired construction elves and her own house-elves who were quite literally biting their knuckles in anticipation of helping, construction took time. Hermione insisted on getting everything set up to her own specifications; she'd be damned if she'd move again.

After two months of non-stop work that made Severus complain that he was going to start bleeding from the ears, they were finished. She thought the new headquarters of Granger Industries were sleek and quite sexy, but then Hermione admitted to being a big geek for the weirdest things. Walls were erected within the cavern structure itself, and other than the fact that there wasn't a window in sight, there wasn't a hint that the whole operation was underground… except perhaps for the lingering smell.

The elves still had their lichen and mushroom harvesting to tend, albeit a bit scaled back. Hermione just didn't have the heart to take that away from them. Even if it was slavery, it was their _raison d'être_, and who was she to deny them what made them happy? Hermione knew firsthand how good, honest, hard work felt. Aside from that, there was apparently a market for icky lichen and mushrooms. But somewhere along the way Hermione recognized she had lost her damn mind.

At first it had seemed just so convenient to have the construction crews work on the manor house while they were working on the caverns. It really had seemed like a good idea at the time. There was a saying about killing two birds with one stone, not that she approved of the practice… the whole bird-killing bit, but it sounded like a good idea… on paper it looked like a good idea. Just a few quick repairs. The roof needed patching. Several bathrooms needed to be re-plumbed, the kitchen was a disaster, and before she knew it the whole house was in a kip. Hermione couldn't walk anywhere without nearly tripping over something. But after two disgustingly long months, construction was over and the house was put back together as if nothing had ever been wrong in the first place. Which was really good for poor Severus, because he seemed so miserable while the construction elves were working, and she rather feared that all the grinding and gnashing of his teeth he was doing just wasn't healthy for the enamel.

Not that everything had 'magically' worked itself out and life was somehow perfect - far from it. But the major hurdles had been satisfactorily handled. Hermione's biggest bone of contention by far though was the lack of Muggle technology that she had previously incorporated into her company.

It was an ugly fact of life that electricity and wards didn't mix. Wizarding wards had a nasty habit of overheating batteries and exploding circuit boards. Hermione still blamed the electro-magnetics, but short of undoing the physical laws of nature and magnetic polarity, there wasn't really anything that she could do to fix it.

Whereas the heartbeat of her company used to be Wi-Fi and email, she now had to put up with owls. Lots of owls. During every hour of the bleeding day. To the point where she wondered how she ever could have thought the diseased rodents on wings were cute. Of the many things she loved about the magical world, Hermione positively hated the post.

In the Muggle world, letters were politely dropped through the mail slot. One could pick up the mail in nothing more than a dressing gown and never risk the unmistakable wide disapproving eyes of a snooty barn owl. Post waited at your leisure to finish a cup of coffee and the editorial section. Owls hooted. Left droppings everywhere. And made a racket on a windowsill, not giving a damn if they were interrupting an intimate personal moment or a critical brewing process.

Then they had the audacity to demand treats.

Furthermore, post never dive-bombed with exact precision into scrambled eggs. The RAF could modify their radar and guidance systems using owls for the unerring accuracy of their package delivery. It would be the end of collateral damage. Only terrorists sitting down to freshly buttered toast would be affected.

Hermione took to giving Crooks treats for any tail feathers he managed to swipe. Oh, certainly, it was cruel and vindictive, but she was beginning to feel like she was living in an owlery. And until she could manage to make long-distance charmed paper airplanes, she was stuck with them.

The owls weren't the only change at the Homestead. For one, the Princes were no longer there. Well, that wasn't quite right either. It served to say that after several weeks of portrait-and-elf conspiracy whispering, Hermione decided that the Princes should definitely have the opportunity to reconnect with both nature and the greenhouses that they so deeply adored. The Princes were relocated to Greenhouse 1 and, to the best of her knowledge, an affectionate Flitterbloom had kindly embraced them.

It may have seemed rather callous, but Hermione felt quite justified. If she believed only half of the things Severus had written about them, the family was an utter nightmare. She would never likely forget stumbling upon the book _'101 Best Recipes for Muggle Cooking'_ and being absolutely delighted to find a bit of her culture in the bastion of pure-blooded bigotry. Until she opened the horrid thing. It was perhaps the only time in her life when she'd honestly condoned book burning.

Severus was still knocking out scrolls and going through manic writing spurts, but he was approaching the end of his book. He'd titled it _Ex Intempestivo Pax_, meaning 'From Understanding, Peace.' And he had finally settled on an ending. He decided he really didn't want to write about being in prison, as that might generate sympathy towards his person… something he did not want at all. Instead, Severus determined to end the autobiography with the firsthand account of how exactly he made it out of the Shrieking Shack alive.

Apparently, to the wider wizarding world it was quite a mystery, which Severus found quite incredulous. And he pointed out to Hermione on several occasions, how completely remiss a Potions Master would he be if he followed after an insane tyrannical despot whose familiar was a man-eating snake, and didn't have a fucking anti-venom? His biggest challenge was to stave off the blood flow before he passed out. Hermione couldn't argue against that one. It made perfect sense of course, but then the wizarding public at large were morons. The phrase, '50% of all people are below average' often came to mind. Her eyes had rather hastily scanned past his first person account of triage to focus on the depressing self-deprecating diatribe that followed. It was upsetting to listen to him question the wisdom in making the effort to stay alive at all. There was such a wistful longing for death it churned her stomach, but damned if it wouldn't sell.

Luna was eagerly awaiting the last few installments. As an editor and publisher she was tickled pink to have the opportunity to work on his memoirs. Hermione wasn't sure what Luna meant when she said she usually worked as a turd polisher, but that was just Luna. She planned to release the book with great fanfare and an accompanying full-color commemorative poster. Hermione feared that was a bit of a gamble, considering mobs of angry villagers bearing pitchforks and torches might surround the prison and demand the monster. Or weepy emotional house-witches might fawn over his tragic hero story.

She wasn't quite certain which was worse.

Severus could certainly deal with anger much better than he could deal with pity; he was accustomed to it. And though she didn't want his person accosted in any way, Hermione wasn't sure she'd be able to deal with swooning groupie witches either. Ideally, the book would be released, a few thoughtful intellectual types would peruse it, and perhaps Severus would get a visitor or two who might help boost his self esteem. Regardless, she still believed that the writing process was therapeutic. Already it was paying dividends.

At the times when she caught him after he'd just finished a long emotional chunk of his novel, Severus was completely relaxed. His shoulders lost their painfully rigid posture, he smiled more and showed her his beautiful hidden dimples, and Severus just seemed... lighter. Happier. Hermione hoped that this Severus would stick around long after the novel was published.

She liked him. Very much. Too much.

He invaded her thoughts and dreams. At night she couldn't stop fantasizing about him and touching herself. Hermione figured that she'd masturbated more in previous two months than all her sexually frustrating years at Hogwarts. She didn't know if it was her imagination or not, but Severus seemed to be goading her, egging her on. Not that she'd give in to her desire. They still had a perfect marriage, on a schedule. Orderly. She wasn't going to queer it all up by kissing him.

Even if he had a perfect mouth and fantastically sexy shoulders.

And made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Or her nipples tighten in response to his velvety voice.

No. She'd not make a fool of herself and ruin a perfectly good marriage.

Severus must have been oblivious to her growing attraction because he did unspeakably dirty things like innocently touch her collarbone, which was as much a physical trigger for her as the knotted root was for the Whomping Willow. Every blasted time his fingers brushed there, right there, on her collarbone, Hermione became unbelievably slick… and incredibly horny.

And yet, every evening she visited him after giving in to the temptation of crying Severus' name out while finding her own release, Severus seemed to have a wry secret smile waiting just for her. It was impossible that he could know, _but he knew_. Or maybe she was imagining it all. Her brain was so impossibly fogged over with need for a man that she saw invitations where none existed.

But all in all, life was settling down. Two months living in a construction zone. Eight straight fucking weeks of building sexual tension that left her so fucking frustrated she couldn't articulate herself beyond fucking swearing. Sixty days of, well, everything. It was taking its toll, and Hermione realized she needed a breather. Brewing Liquid Sunshine was out of the question, but she needed some way to cope with all the fucking stress.

Perhaps it was the fact that the household had no less than four Thumpers in residence, or that the elves took on slightly maniacal toothy grins when speaking of their 'secret magic,' but Hermione came to the conclusion that they all needed a bit more exposure and a healthy dose of levity, too. Thus, 'Movie Night at the Homestead' was born.

The experimentation with memory projectors had been an expensive failure. Even after Gibson and Severus had corrected the binding potion they had hit a brick wall with the enchanted film, and Hermione knew when to cut her losses. The best thing to come out of the expensive mess was a plethora of improved wizarding movie projectors. It took more than a bit of doing - and much cussing - to figure out which enchantments to drop, but as thirty-six awestruck elves and baby elfkins gathered round the glowing screen, Hermione knew it was worth it.

Curled up in the dark on a lumpy couch, an elfkin tucked under each arm, Hermione reverently whispered her favorite-of-all-time line to her favorite-of-all-time childhood story.

"Boy, why are you crying?"

It was odd and slightly disconcerting to watch the movie as an adult, and to pick out classic character archetypes and plot devices. In life, she had always been shoved into the Wendy Moira Angela Darling role. The nearly grown-up, prudent, proper British girl forever running after her errant charges. Even though she longed to be an exotic, independent Tiger Lily.

Harry, of course, was a consummate Peter, even though she'd never seen him crow… or strut. But he was a reckless orphan boy afraid of his own destiny who held tightly to the innocence of his youth with both fists.

Captain Hook would have been much scarier if he'd been bald with sharp teeth and a snake, but with his cutlass and simpering servant Wormtail, oops, scratch that… Mr. Smee, he did alright.

But where did that leave everyone else? Or more specifically: what of Snape? Was he the alligator? No. The alligator was the reminder that everyone answered to someone. Even the biggest, baddest, darkest… Pirate had a predator.

Severus was not there.

She searched her memory banks for a character archetype to fit him, and winced. The spy left out in the cold. Not even a sexy James Bond-type spy either. Nothing ever boded well for baddies, or even pseudo-baddies. They always got their comeuppance and met a tragic end. In the movies it meant a dark back-alley knifing by someone with an impossibly thick Russian accent. Hermione uneasily realized that Snape, her Severus, had been an expendable player in her own life story as well.

Had her hand not been forced by the abysmal Marriage Law, he would have suffered his tragic end alone and in ignominy. She cuddled the elfkin Flower closer, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. He was still suffering. Needlessly so. Severus was no baddie. And she couldn't delude herself that access to books and periodicals, warm blankets, and Thai food take-away made for a decent happy ending.

The elves collectively leaned forward, holding their breaths as a bound Tiger Lily approached her fate at the falls. They could not see the slow stream of tears trailing down Hermione's cheeks.

'Would it really be so bad?' she wondered again.

To have him out of Azkaban would mean sleeping with the wizard, bearing his children, and answering to him as the man of the house. Something she'd vehemently sworn she'd never do. She'd never have time for a family. Her husband would rankle and control her. Her children would grow to resent her. They'd all be miserable together, or at least until she could pack them off to boarding school and drive her husband off after years of constant nagging and bickering. And yet, she knew that wasn't entirely true either. Wasn't that the whole point of marrying Snape in the first place? Avoiding that hell?

As husbands went - not that she had any for comparison, really - Severus was a rare gem, though she mostly attributed this to his incarceration. Already she spent most all of her free time with him. Having him around the house would be a good thing, and so much better than Apparating half way across the flippin' globe. Her thoughts strayed briefly to the deep burning shame that she not only fantasized about the Potions Master's undeniably sexy eyes and masculine body, but had masturbated to those fantasies countless times. Feeling guilty, she knew part of her desire to see him set free of Azkaban was her own selfish want for him in her bed. His lips to greedily take hers, those slender fingers to dip into her slick folds… _'No!'_ her mind screamed, _'get a grip, woman!'_

Firmly clearing her mind of all erotic visions of the man, which was exceedingly difficult, but being surrounded by a sea of house elves greatly added to cooling her ardor, Hermione refocused on what it would mean for her life if she… they... managed to free Severus.

The vision of children toddling about wasn't so bad. Especially now that she had the space for them; adjacent to the master bedroom was the sweetest nursery, and she'd already spied the most perfect little girl's room, and… and… damn. Ron was right. She was nesting. Regardless, Hermione could see Severus as a good father and role model for her children, if he could abide the little rotters.

Their children. Months ago she'd never have been able to envision it, but now it was easy to see - and kind of cute. They could probably manage two kids and the business together, and it probably wouldn't be half as much of a sacrifice as she'd once feared. Plus as loathe as she was to admit it, an army of adoring potty-mouthed elves was really very helpful. Even though those elves said some of the foulest insults, she knew by the sweet sing song voice in which they reverently called her such things that they had no real grasp of the meaning. Still, they'd have to clean up their language for when the children arrived, but Hermione was confident they could manage it.

Suddenly, spending her days at the Homestead on the Green with a house full of elves and kids and Severus sounded like the perfect happy ending.

After all, to live would be an awfully big adventure.

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A/N:  
Chapter title: Nulla Vit Melior Quam Bona - There's no life better than a good life

Congratulations goes to FascinatingSnape who submitted the winning title, _Ex Intempestivo Pax_, translated as: 'From Understanding, Peace.' We had many many entries and it was very difficult to select a winner. There were so many excellent titles that at one point we had to go into the Octagon of Death to duke it out. Christev has a split lip, TQW is missing hair, aberlioness fights damn dirty, and I'm hobbling. But I have to thank my wonderful judges who performed so wonderfully in such a difficult task. And I'd like to thank everyone who submitted a book title. We were all blown away by your creativity, imagination, and thoughtfulness.

Three cheers to Christev for her beta skills. I still think I made out on the pizza for king cake deal.

I am informed that Alan Rickman also once played Captain Hook in 'Awfully Big Adventure,' but I've never seen it. I'm just not an obsessed fan.

Valentines Day is Saturday, so regardless if your single or attached, bubbly and truffles from me to you.  
Thank you for reading, please consider leaving a review. AV


	38. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 38 - A Bene Placito **

There were certain things that Severus Snape _knew_ to the foundation of his being, as surely as he knew the magical current that flowed through his veins and arteries, as confidently as he commanded the art and science of potionry.

He knew Albus Dumbledore's eyes had twinkled. He wasn't exactly sure how 'twinkled' qualified as a verb. It was a rubbish verb. And it was irrationally absurd of the wizard to twinkle so, but then that was Albus.

He knew to tie a missive to an owl's leg first. Then to offer it a treat. To attempt the reverse left one without a treat, without an owl, and still holding the missive. Bloody owls.

He knew if he valued his life or his precious bits not to ever anger a pregnant witch. Ever.

He knew it was a sin to hex a squib. To do so would bring the hex back on one's head at three times the original strength, and curse your progeny with the non-magical affliction.

He knew sexual relations with house-elves were not only verboten, but it was the most disgusting thing he could ever imagine, short of Argus rutting with his mangy beast.

And he knew to the depth of his bones that Hermione Granger thought about him while she touched herself. Nothing else could possibly explain how prettily she blushed around him. How when she Apparated home after seeing him, he could almost feel her heart pounding before she sought her own release. And if he was a very lucky boy, in the throes of passion she called out his name.

And didn't that make life a bit more interesting?

It was so easy to see her in his mind's eye. Her pale thin fingers pushing past her plump little cunt lips to stroke her dripping pink pussy. Of course it was his fingers she envisioned touching her there, making her come. She moaned and writhed at the contact, her face glowing with the beginning sheen of perspiration as she tried to scratch the itch without the aid of his cock. Her back then arched up from the sheets, as she pumped into her tight channel faster and faster. Shrieking and grinding her hips into her fingers, Hermione would milk the last traces of her explosion as she panted softly, the words "Severus… oh Severus. Yes… oh thank you, Severus! Thank you," rumbling from her chest.

"Uh… Professor? Sir?"

Ye Gods, the Mulciber boy was at his door! Couldn't he see he was busy? Severus was tempted to throw him out again.

Ever since the boy had begun courting the female of the Weasley species, Billy had been at his door two and three times a day. The boy was his own personal albatross.

With a long suffering sigh Severus closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten in German. "What is it this time, Billy?"

Fortunately the boy had the good sense to look profoundly apologetic. "I, uh…"

_"What!"_ Severus snapped impatiently. "Spit it out, boy. I know I may be trapped here all day, but I swear I'll choke you if you don't get to the fucking point real fucking soon."

"Oh… uh. Never mind."

Severus grabbed his hair and violently tugged counting backwards from ten in Polish. Really, why Albus ever suggested it as a relaxing technique was beyond him. "No. No. No. You're here. Speak, so you can leave my presence once again. What is it this time? Agonizing over the flowers you sent her? Worried they'll make her sneeze? The chocolates make her break out? Are you still afraid she won't like the sonnet because it doesn't rhyme? How many times do I have to tell you, _poetry doesn't have to rhyme!_"

The ham-fisted youth shrugged, mindless to how annoying Severus found that particular gesture, and shifted from side to side. "No. Um. Well. Uh." He paused briefly to chew on a fingertip, though his eyes were trained on the pulsing blue vein on his former Head of House's temple. Billy had seen that vein many times before, and those incidents had never ended well.

Severus was in the midst of recalling what little Hungarian he knew when Billy finally articulated himself.

"Sir, it's just that, uh, I know we agreed that taking Ginevra to a nice seafood restaurant was a good third date idea, and uh, I know you said the Hook and Eel was very good."

"But?" Severus prompted.

"Uh. I just don't think Ginevra has liked any of the fancy restaurants I've taken her to."

"So don't take her to a fancy restaurant." Severus swore his first act as soon as the boy left was to write an irate letter to the Hogwarts' Board.

"But… but…" he sputtered.

"But what?" Severus gingerly massaged the sinus points between his eyebrows. All contemplation of Hermione's milky thighs straddling various parts of his anatomy had been dashed for the day. And really, that was the only thing of note he had on the calendar.

"Well, she's a girl. She's supposed to like nice restaurants, Sir."

Delicately. Severus had to breathe naturally and find his center - another coping technique that didn't work, courtesy of Albus. If the Mulciber boy kept this up Severus was going to start his primal scream therapy.

Delicately. He had to piece his thoughts together omitting the arsenal of choice words he had for the boy. Breathing in, Severus reminded himself the boy had grown up in a poor country pure-blood family with very narrow minded ideas about how witches ought to act. And at Hogwarts he'd been oblivious to the fairer sex. And painfully awkward. And he didn't really know any better. He was just another socially-stunted inbred lackwit.

"Billy, do you like eating at fancy restaurants?"

"Uh, not particularly."

"Are you comfortable in fancy restaurants?"

Billy squirmed, obviously conflicted about revealing to another Slytherin his weakness. Especially for a Mulciber. "No," he whispered.

"Then why do you expect the same from Miss Weasley? No, Billy, 'because she is a witch,' is not an acceptable answer. Now I suggest you think on this some more. If you're not comfortable somewhere, it's going to show. You won't impress her with your worldliness while you're scratching your head to puzzle out what the finger bowl is used for. Incidentally, it's to clean your fingers, not to sip. However, that's irrelevant. Rather, I suspect if you're not comfortable, the pair of you probably haven't actually enjoyed your dates. Time to change tactics. Understood?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Right. Now, where's your absolute favorite place to eat?"

"That's easy, O'Shea's."

"Grand. Take her there."

"But Sir! It's a dirty pub. And it's Muggle, Sir!"

Severus didn't answer. He just turned his eyes on the boy.

Fortunately Billy had the good sense to leave quickly. He'd seen that look before.

Hermione shuffled through the latest stack of invoices on her desk, her teeth set together and roughly grinding the enamel away. Her parents would have had a fucking cow. They would have outfitted her immediately with an uncomfortable mouth guard or implemented some equally barbaric regimen, ignoring her usual protests that a few galleons and an hour with a Ministry-certified Denti-wizard would set her to rights. But then, they weren't around to demonstrate their love through patronizing dental care. She ignored the kick to the gut that she'd abandoned them to Australia. Was everyone she loved in a penal colony? Wait. Hermione backed up that train of thought; she wasn't in love with Severus Snape.

She was in goddamned frustrated lust with him.

The stack she was surfing through didn't have the document she was looking for. She slapped the folder down on the desk with a loud wincing smack, and Hermione realized she couldn't quite remember what it was she was searching for. Giving up working through lunch as a bad job, Hermione stalked out of her office muttering, "See you later," to Jake, who was chatting up one of her best line workers. 'Well,' she thought miserably. 'Maybe someone around here will get lucky.'

She Apparated upstairs into the Manor home and nearly tripped over Crookshanks, who appeared to be on the prowl for something. Not house-elves, she hoped, but as she wandered through the house banging doors in her wake she couldn't be arsed to find out. If he ever managed to get his paws around one of them he was in for a nasty surprise. Those self-deprecating creatures were not defenseless.

Hermione reached the Master's chambers she had allotted for herself, against the protestations of the elves who had never heard of progressive witches or the feminist movement. They had moved her personal items into the more seemly and less masculine Lady's chamber every morning, until they had reached a mutual understanding. That involved threatening them with knitting needles and the very real promise of socks. Hermione liked the darkly masculine Master's chambers. They appealed to her sense of drama, aside from which, the bedroom featured a bed large enough for the Master to have a good romp with four of his mistresses.

She wrenched the heavy paneled door open and shut it with a satisfactory 'bang.' There was something to be said about storming through a house with so many doors. She flicked her wand, locking it and sealing it from any overly helpful elves. They had the most ghastly habit of standing by her bedside at all hours, twisting on their ears in giddy anticipation of being of assistance. She most definitely did not want their help.

A slight shudder raced across her shoulder blades as she groped in the bottom of her armoire, looking for the box clearly marked for large curious elven eyes, 'Do not touch!' She wanted to add '...upon the threat of painful death,' but given the grizzly history of the Homestead they might take the threat literally. Hermione closed her eyes blotting out images of her knee-high companions. She most certainly did not want to think of them at the moment.

Box in hand, Hermione shucked her work robes, and tried to throw off the Muggle clothing she wore underneath as quickly as humanly possible. She hopped around the room on one foot as she tried to yank her jeans off while her shoes were still on her feet. With all the anger and pent-up frustration of a witch who hadn't had a decent fuck in at least three years, and even then, that sorely lackluster experience was less than enjoyable for all parties concerned, Hermione howled before violently peeling off all of her clothing. Once naked, she fell into the bed sheets in a bone-weary thump.

She closed her eyes and took a moment to breathe deeply, shutting away the stack of blue folders that sat on her desk, the horde of concerned elves who had no doubt gathered at her door, Harry's lack of response to her last letter, Ron's constant ear-to-ear grin that loudly screamed 'I just got laid!' (good for bloody him), and just stared vacantly at the ornate plaster and paneled ceiling. It was gaudy in that Elizabethan style that the entire house reeked of, not that she minded the great hall's hammer-beam trusses, but there was something about the repetitive quality of the trefoil design that calmed her. It was fussy and busy, but perfectly balanced, and balance was something that she needed. Desperately. She was losing her mind. Through the nose and out the mouth she breathed, until the need to pitch a fit passed.

Turning her attention to the box, Hermione extracted the purple dildo with sparkling glitter, and frowned. She hated 'marital aids' that were shaped and colored to look like real cocks. There was something uniquely wrong about a toy that looked real, especially the packaging that said, 'modeled after a real penis!' Fantastic, but whose penis? Toys were toys, and ought to look like toys. It was impossible to mistake a plastic dildo for a real cock with a pulse and a man attached. Regardless, they were all poor substitutes when there wasn't a man attached. She preferred toys that rotated and vibrated with all the bells and whistles, that made her twitch and scream, but since moving to the heavily warded Homestead those overheated within a moment of starting up. The egg-thingy had even smoked. And she was not going to put a sparking battery-operated device anywhere near her most sensitive parts. But damn if she didn't want a vibrator. It was another perfectly good reason to strangle her husband.

Her husband. Damn that man. Did she need another reason to strangle him? Hermione imagined wrapping her fingers around his neck. Pressing her thumbs into his jugular, that long thin neck with the still slightly pink scaring from that hideously overgrown snake, his stubble prickling the skin under her fingers, she imagined saying something witty and condescending as she choked him for trapping her in a sexless marriage with house-elves and take-away food. She knew full damn well that she had proposed it, but that wasn't nearly as satisfying as blaming him. The Severus of her fantasy did not struggle against her, he just raised an incredulous eye brow that made her feel moist and squirmy under its intensity. She had no idea how the fuck he was able to make her feel so damned weak and pliant, but she wanted to just violently throw him to the mattress and impale herself on him.

Her fingers ran over the tops of her nipples tweaking them before she cupped the full weight of her breasts, tickling the undersides and imagining those bottomless bedroom eyes watching her. One hand grasping the substitute cock, she ran it over her naked skin. It left trails of goosebumps in its wake. The ghost of Severus' tapered pale fingers played with her body, feeling out the fleshy curves of her thighs, circling her areoles, watching them pinch up in response. She could almost feel his breath chuffing in her ear, and she shivered in the warm room. There had been a hot fog between them on her recent visits, one that clouded around her and pressed into her skin. Her body sensed the pheromones that hung in the air, it left her breathing heavily and swallowing thickly for want of him.

Her splayed hand traveled down her stomach, where Severus would sigh his approval of her slightly rounded abdomen, and caress the curve of her waist that widened into lush hips. He'd find her perfect. Her porcelain white skin a mark of classical beauty instead of a distinct lack of sunshine. Hermione's fingertips swirled in the curled short hair of her pubis, wondering if Severus would ask her to shave. She might. For him, she might.

The purple shaft rubbed up and down her breastbone making a lazy circuit along her body, occasionally stopping to swirl a nipple. A finger slid into her cleft and Hermione gasped. 'Yes, Severus,' she encouraged, 'touch me there.' She was already so damn wet and near panting, and she could feel the moisture beginning to leak onto her thighs. She could only imagine that Severus could make whole rivers run from her. Her fingers brushed against her clit. The touch was electric. Hermione ground her teeth and splayed her legs, opening for more. Her digits stroked up and down the silkened skin to touch all the parts of her vulva, from her taut opening to the hood of her clit.

The Severus of her imagination was gifted, knowing exactly how to tease then press firmly on her little button. Hermione's toes curled and the toy traveled to her thighs. She could see Severus' broad shoulders above her, his hips sliding between her thighs. The purple substitute circled her opening, prodding for entrance. His cockhead entered her and Hermione squeezed herself around him, holding him there, enjoying the first thrust that opened her to the fullest.

Her tongue darted out to swipe the perspiration gathering on her upper lip. Her neck was already beading with sweat. She guided him in slowly, imagining Severus' look of groaning bliss. Fuck, she wanted to see that face. Hermione pinched her clit between her thumb and fingers as she eased the dildo completely into her pink sex, clenching her muscles in appreciation of the fullness. Slowly, in rhythm with her breathing she fucked herself on it, angling it to tease her g-spot and move in tandem with the toying of her clit. Her brow furrowed as she dragged the cock in and out of her body. Her body lurched upwards as she hit that particularly wonderful spot that made the stars bloom in the space behind her eyes.

'Yes!' she silently exclaimed, 'Fuck me, Severus! Right there!'

Having found just the right spot, Hermione abandoned her teasing and pulled her knees up. With scrambling hands that flew between pinching her nipples and rolling her clit she fucked herself frantically at a fevered pace, and writhed under the assault. The image of Severus' strong features came sharply to her mind, his jaw set in determination, his lank dark hair swinging along his jawline as he held her knees back.

Hermione shrieked and clenched the hard cock, her body shuddering around it as her muscles tightened and her body released. The blissful juxtaposition of tension and relief as she exploded.

Her hands dropped to her sides as she panted, heaving great lungfuls of air while she unwound. She lay there, clenching the plastic dildo in search of one more peak, but there were none to be had. Hermione closed her eyes for a long moment, before opening to focus on the ostentatious ceiling. It was a cruel reminder that she was nowhere near Azkaban. She pulled the toy out and stared at it. Disgusting hateful thing. She hated that it could make her come. Hated that she needed it to come. Hated that it didn't have a pulse or a man attached.

"Fucking toy," she hissed at the offending purple object. Which, literally she supposed it was in fact a fucking toy, and that thought did nothing at all for her ire. Hermione threw it into the pile of bedsheets, not giving a damn what the elf who attended to making her bed would think.

She couldn't take much more of this. Something had to give. More than likely it would be her pride. She had told him not even a year ago she would _'never, ever touch him'_. Hermione knew she might have to eat those words.

Across the seas Severus' labored breathing slowed down as he fumbled for something to wipe himself off with.

He couldn't take much more of this.

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A/N:  
Chapter Title: A Bene Placito - At One's Pleasure (rather fitting for some self-gratification action)

A word of thanks to Christev20 for beta'ing this mess for me. You rock, we all know it, but it bears repeating.

**Thanks for reading lovelies! Ya'll rock too. FYI - the pre-written portion of this fic has ended. From here on out I am posting what I've got as I have it. I am going to try to continue on the M/W/F posting schedule, and I think that's do-able, but I warn you in advance I may have a gap or two as this fic winds up. It's mostly finished. Your reviews and encouragement keeps me on track and enthused to write more. This will never be an abandoned fic, that's not what I'm getting at, but I'm not promising that I'll maintain the crazy-mad 3x/week posting schedule.**

Schmootches, AV


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 39 - Scriptor Ventus Fabula Madidus **

The dress was a dark plum and couture. Very classy, much more stylish than anything she would have picked out for herself, but Jake had impeccable taste and managed to find something that also covered the starburst hex scar on her shoulder. Though dressing to the nines was wasted on an event she could have cared less about. Jake, however, was entirely in his element, schmoozing business contacts with ease and networking for new clients. He could 'do' small talk; Hermione was absolutely pants at it.

She left the half-eaten rubbery chicken almondine on her plate and saddled up to the bar, absent-mindedly ordering whatever their special cocktail of the night was. When the 'Pixie Dust' arrived, all lurid pink with golden fizzing bubbles, Hermione was reminded for the umpteenth time why she hated trade shows with unending passion. It was always the same crowd. There were only so many wizarding companies. So why did she have to keep meeting and greeting them over and over? Supposedly it was good for business. Hermione had to question the added value ratio. If this night didn't result in significant new contracts, she was determined it would be her last.

Besides, she was missing time with Severus to be there. Time spent with him never made her question the added value ratio. She glanced again over her shoulder. She had been doing it all night, studying the darkened corners of the room, her mind spinning fantasies of Severus in tailored robes, haunting her.

_He had heard she would be out, looking utterly beguiling, and he wanted to protect her. Wanted to watch over her and make sure no other man messed with his witch._ No. That sounded too disturbed. _He couldn't wait until he saw her later that night._ Yes, that was it. Much better.

_Risking life and limb, Severus escaped from prison. He Confunded guards with an impressive showing of wandless magic, before Apparating to her. Severus only wanted to catch a glimpse of her porcelain skin in the couture gown. _Hermione glanced again back over her shoulder, trying to make out his form in the corners and shadows. _But no, the master spy was elusive._

_Soon,_ Hermione dreamed, _as she picked up her stole to leave, a hand would curl around her arm, pulling her into the ballroom's darkened recesses to ravage her mouth… or perhaps he'd sweep her up into a heart pounding tango._ Did Severus tango? That would be a good question for the next time he was in a mood to open up to her.

She had once overheard from Lavender that a witch could learn everything she wanted to know about a wizard by studying how he moved on the dance floor. Dancing, whether vertical or horizontal, was about the same thing. Could a wizard _move;_ could he keep a beat? Did he dance for himself, to show off how flashy he was, or did he make the witch look good? Was the couple well matched? Did they move as one together, or just in time to the music? Relatively speaking, it was one of Lavender's better theories. Not that she put stock in Lavender's pearls of wisdom.

Hermione was willing to bet good galleons Severus could _move._

The clink of a second pink 'Pixie Dust' cocktail hitting the bar in front of her pulled Hermione back to the present. Somewhere she had acquired a drinking companion. The wizard on her right stood with the careless air of another disaffected party-goer, but he had a decidedly mischievous sparkle to his hazel eyes. On the whole, the roguish blond was exactly the sort of wizard who would have garnered her attention - and possibly more - some time ago. Once. Once upon a time ago.

"We've met," he opened, flashing a set of perfectly straight teeth. "I'm sure of it. I never forget a beautiful witch. Didn't we meet in Strasbourg?"

Hermione arched a disbelieving eyebrow. This was a rather new approach. Aside from the terrible attempt at a pick-up, she only got the 'where do I know you' line from old witches in checkout queues. Granted, her blown-away hair had been tamed for the evening, but the Prophet still picked at the dry bones of her life any time they had extra space to fill. Not that she was being self-absorbed or anything. Someday, she prayed, her fifteen minutes would end. Hermione had never developed Harry's blasé or Ron's eager enthusiasm.

"No, I don't think we've met." He was cute, and she was willing to bite for no other reason but to see where it went. At least, she contented herself, she wouldn't look daft to the odd observer by tossing her head over her shoulders, peering at absolutely nothing in the dark corners. By having company she could keep up the pretenses of being sane. That, and she had two more hours to the evening before she could gracefully bow out and be where she wanted to be. 'Home' with Severus.

Not that she'd accept the drink from him. Rule Number One: Never, Ever, Ever accept a drink from a strange wizard. Aside from slipped-in lust potions, too many wizards assumed that a drink purchased the entry into a witch's bed. Precious few gentlewizards were willing to pay for the pleasure of a witch's company without expecting more.

"Donald Browne."

"Hermione Granger." She watched in mild amusement as his eyes briefly flashed.

She learned Donald was a swiftly rising accounts manager in one of her competitor's subsidiaries who liked to talk about himself. With his manipulative charisma Hermione figured he'd burn brightly to the top in short order. He was also unmarried, and whole heartedly approving of the recent Marriage Law that funneled desperate witches into his waiting arms. A pig for certain, but an entertaining pig at least. He was helping her count down the clock until it was pumpkin-time for Cinderella.

Donald was also rather pleased with himself. Not only had he managed to chat up one of the best looking birds under sixty in the place, but a celebrity at that.

"I couldn't help but notice you didn't touch your Pixie Dust. You know, I probably have something back at my place that will tickle your fancy. Or perhaps you'll just let me tickle your fancy," Donald smirked going in for the close.

"Ah, then you couldn't help but notice I'm also married."

Hermione hastened a glance at the thin gold band on her left hand. Not for the first time in the last few weeks did she wish she had put more effort into picking out a ring. At the time she'd only wanted to proclaim 'my heart's not in this' as loudly as possible. But now, it felt like the message missed the mark.

"Hermione," Donald purred, covering her left hand with his own. "I can be discreet. I can be very discreet."

The Marriage Law had been the very best idea the Ministry had ever had in Donald's estimation. He had desperate young witches throwing fresh pussy at him left and right, trying to catch a man. And just because the 'Ministry Approved Fidelity Clause' was a killjoy, didn't mean he couldn't enjoy a married witch. Typically they were just as horny as the unmarried ones. And the married ones always gave good head. Occasionally he got lucky and found a married witch who let him fuck her in the ass. Those were superlative evenings. If she were good, he'd keep her owl address. Donald's eyes roved Hermione's backside appreciatively.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and snatched back her hand, disgusted that harmless playful banter had turned so disturbing. Then again, Hermione had been out of the dating scene for a long time, and had forgotten that at the end of the evening wizards were expecting to Apparate home with their trophies.

"Full Fidelity Charm," Hermione deadpanned. Really, did she need to say much more? And for once she was thankful for Severus' insistence.

Donald shuffled backwards awkwardly, his eyes wide and mouth gaping open as if he was going to start sicking up slugs.

"Really, I have no idea what the consequences of violating the charm are," Hermione carried on, "but given that I'm married to Severus Snape, I'd hazard to guess it's rather creative. It was nice meeting you Donald." As Hermione hopped off her bar stool she waved a _'tootle-loo,'_ and headed for the exit.

She wondered, not for the first time, why 'having a thing for bad boys' equated to 'having a thing for assholes.'

Her tolerance for anything more that evening had dried up. In fact, she had about as much patience for Donald and the trade show as she did for her Pixie Dust. The only place she wanted to be was curled up with the acerbic Death Eater-cum-spy who was undoubtedly pacing his cell waiting for her, even though she had already warned him not to wait up.

Two hours later saw Hermione freshly scrubbed up in her jeans and trainers, a bag of greasy fish and chips under her arm and stalking her favorite corridor in the world.

The moment she entered his cell she wondered if she'd stumbled into the wrong cell before her eyes adjusted.

"You know, you're not supposed to drink alone, Severus."

"Ah, well. You just missed the party," he slurred slightly. "Everyone who's anyone was here. And there was dancing and a live band. So sorry you missed it."

"Sounds like my night," she mumbled to herself. Usually, Severus could hear all the snotty comments she made under her breath, a talent born out of necessity and of years listening at keyholes. Just then he wasn't quite paying attention to the chit. He rather had more important thinking and drinking to do.

Hermione frowned. He was drinking in the dark. According to another one of her self-help books, that was another indicator of an unhealthy life habits. True night had fallen, but she and the boys had arranged for a touch-activated sconce above his bed, and he wasn't using it. Severus was slumped in his chair, against the far wall and in his half buttoned shirt sleeves, looking like a lifelong libertine at the end of a particularly good binge. And loathe as she was to admit it, Severus was quite sexy in his dishabille. Not every man could pull off the unshaven 'don't-give-a-damn' look that Hermione favored, but Severus could... and much better than Charlie ever managed.

She warily eyed the bottle of Ogden's Special Reserve, one of her Christmas gifts. Drinking with Severus was a dangerous game, and not one to be undertaken lightly. Presently it wasn't a path she was willing to travel; he was obviously in one of his melancholic moods. And a brooding Snape was an unpleasant Snape. But then, he hadn't actually offered to share either.

"I have more notes from the first trials of your joint rejuvenator," Hermione began without preamble. Per usual, she hoped to maintain a semblance of authority through efficiency. "Of course we haven't figured out what to call it yet. Skele-gro is trademarked, so anything close to that would make us vulnerable to litigation, so we've sent a list of ideas to a working group of consultants…"

Severus' eyes followed the witch's moving lips, but paid no mind to her chatter. She rambled too much and rarely said anything of real interest anymore. It was all the same, 'the staff meeting ran late,' 'I want new distributors,' 'why can't I hex stupid employees…' Truly irritating. Hermione Granger was as irritating and intolerable as a woman as she had been as a child, but at least she was a damn sight better to look at. And fantasize about.

He'd always imagined that a hand basket speeding swiftly to hell most resembled a Gringotts cart. Now he knew to the firmament of his soul it resembled nothing more than a hag-haired swot in jeans. Surely she'd be the death of him.

She was working herself up into a snit again. Through the corner of his ear he registered her ranting about some apothecary not giving her product satisfactory placement. With a wry smirk he observed her breathing deepen, her eyes doing that cute little narrowing thing that she did whenever she was mentally hexing someone. Ah. Perfection. Through her hideous Muggle t-shirt, her nipples hardened and popped out. May the Gods bless those Muggles and their unseemly fashion sense. Like pert little peas, they were so tempting to kiss, even through the cheap cotton fabric. Would she squeal or moan if he nipped one?

"Hermione," he rasped.

"…which of course won't be ready until Tuesday, when clearly I specified that I had to have delivery by the fourteenth! I mean, why else would I have contracted out with them, but they always pull these stunts with me, and it takes me threatening to haul them into court at least three times before…"

"Hermione!" he barked, finally grabbing her attention. "Give it a rest."

She looked at him puzzled before belatedly realizing she'd gone off on a wild tangent, yet again.

So why was he staring at her _that_ way? Was there a stain on her shirt? With theatrically wide eyes she realized that he seemed to be having a silent conversation with her breasts. And they seemed to be responding.

"Severus, you're staring," she could feel her cheeks starting to flush, but for the life of her couldn't manage to tell him to stop. It was oddly just as erotic to watch him drink her in hungrily. Objectification had never been so sexy before.

"Well, what do you expect me to do, they're fucking magnificent," he groused, raising the bottle in mock salute.

Obviously, the right thing to do was to admonish his poor behavior, set personal boundaries, state expectations... but she could compromise. He could stare, and she could… enjoy his attentions? Was that a compromise? Wasn't that what that silly book on relationship advice had said? Maybe the experts did know something after all.

It didn't matter, did it? He was clearly drunk off his ass, and the ogling of the women came after the heavy imbibing, to be shortly followed by the fantastic fumbling of clothing and the magnificent drunken sex. Only life wasn't fair, and she wasn't plastered. Oh… and he was Snape, and for some reason that meant she couldn't shag him. Pity. She could really use a good fuck.

"You're pissed," she deadpanned.

"Very observant. I've always said you were a clever girl."

"You've never said that," Hermione shrilly insisted.

"Ah," he frowned, his head swung loosely towards his chest before bobbing up, "my mistake." His nose twitched as he worked hard to come to a difficult conclusion and Hermione stilled under his intense scrutiny. "You don't need my approval, do you?"

"No. Not really. It would have been nice as a child to get encouragement, but..." Hermione shrugged her shoulders in a helpless gesture.

Hermione hated being the bad guy. She always had to be the bad guy, the responsible one, the voice of fucking reason, but someone had to, and Severus wasn't being much help.

"Look, I'm just going to leave this sack of take-away and go. This is awkward and I can't imagine you want me here, so I've got a bottle of hangover relief in my satchel for you, because I'm certain that tomorrow you'll have a troll sitting on your skull…"

She was rambling again. And a wispy curl was trying to affix itself on her juicy lip gloss. Her lips had a peachy tint; did the lip gloss taste peachy? Severus hardened at the thought, not that he wasn't already proudly sporting wood. Those pretty glistening lips would slide really well up and down his cock. Severus was willing to bet gold she wouldn't choke at all. Hermione'd take him like a champ; she was always overly ambitious and willing to please like that. She'd open that delicate throat to receive every blessed inch of him. She probably could suck the finish off a Firebolt. Why was she still yakking? Couldn't she see he was busy?

"Hermione, wait!" he shouted in a panicked voice as she was leaving. Why was she leaving? Couldn't she see how desperately he needed her? "Don't go, please, please don't go." He hastily stood and lurched for her.

Hermione stopped the cell door wide open to the world and stared at him in disbelief. Severus Snape never sounded pitiful. Or desperate. Certainly he was hard up for company, and as her eyes traveled she mentally catalogued he was impressively hard up as well, very impressively, deliciously so… _'Focus!'_ her conscience demanded. Her train of thought derailed, until she saw the humbling need in his glittering eyes. Severus Snape _needed_ her. Well, there were worse things in life, and who was she to be so callous and cruel?

"Please don't leave me tonight. We don't have to do anything… I just… need you, " he whispered. His voice was so sullen she wondered if she'd imagined it at all. Well, at least that was a proper excuse for staying. If he later acted like an asshole she could always use it as ammunition.

"I suppose," she said, her voice low at a near whisper, "I suppose I could stay a bit longer. If you'll have me."

"Yesss," he hissed through clenched teeth. His eyes slid quickly toward the sleigh bed. Over the last several weeks they'd treated it as if it were a couch, a desk, a place to picnic on, and an ad hoc bookshelf, but as she followed his gaze they both knew it was a bed.

Hermione quietly closed the gaping cell door and slid out of her flats. She made a small production of laying them centered and straight beneath the bed, stalling while Severus crawled in. She pursed her lips when she straightened and saw him dominating the center of the small bed, his arm outstretched, beckoning her to join him. Her silly irrational female desires lurched as the rational voice in her head demanded that she turn and run.

Hermione crawled into bed with a thick swallow and nestled herself in his embrace. Severus spooned her backside, pressing his jutting erection into her bum. While parts of her mind recoiled, the sinful side, the one that knew moisture was leaking into her knickers and loved it, purred, rocking back into him. Recriminations be damned. So what if she wanted her unrepentant sodding Death Eater husband, who wasn't exactly an unrepentant sodding Death Eater? Surely there were worse things in the world?

Severus drew her closer into his chest and brought an arm around to cup her breast gently, his thumb slowly tracing her curves. His warm breath huffing against her ear, his movements were slow and steady, an exquisitely sweet seduction.

This wasn't about her. It was about him. She told herself firmly. He was drunk. He just needed some human contact. Perfectly acceptable for an incarcerated man. It meant nothing. Nothing at all.

That was bullshit and she knew it.

Hermione pressed her lips together uncertain how to proceed. As much as she wanted to roll over and ask what he wanted – needed from her, she couldn't. To give voice to this… to question it… even to open her mouth and break the smooth silence would feel like a sin.

Severus drew her closer. He gathered her snugly against his warm body to run a calloused hand along the plump curve of her side. Hermione's eyelids fluttered shut when he nuzzled the sensitive skin of her neck. She clenched them tight because Severus was so wonderfully _male_ and she could smell the heady tart scent of male arousal.

She cast aside her inhibitions and silenced the scandalized voices in her mind. She was a woman. How she had forgotten the fact along with her needs, Hermione did not know. But Severus made her feel like a woman, and with the heat emanating from his hips, it was a good thing indeed. Why had she protested this?

Severus placed wet unhurried kisses at her silky throat as one hand gripped her hip, rhythmically pulling her against his erection. Hermione's legs drifted open and Severus insinuated one of his between hers, brushing her sex, inflaming her desire. The friction against her clit was delicious and she whimpered at the contact. She wanted to rub herself up and down every goddamned inch of his swollen cock. His hand trailed up. Severus deftly ran his palm under her light t-shirt to trace circles on her little rounded stomach.

Her soft moans encouraged Severus to reach for and tickle her pebbled nipples. "Absolutely phenomenal tits, my Vixen," he whispered lowly into her collarbone. He palmed the soft flesh of her breast and reveled in how she writhed against him. He pinched and rolled them, and Severus grunted when her round hips ground against his loins in response. He didn't know how much foreplay he had in him before he let go. With his witch frotting against him, Severus was tempted to throw her on her back and give her exactly the good fucking her body was begging for.

Never content to lay idle, Hermione untangled her legs and sat up in bed, Severus' possessive grip on her released as she shucked her encumbering shirt. The shirt was balled up and hit the leather chair with a light 'thwack.' Her bra fell shortly afterward. Hermione didn't give a damn where that landed.

Severus turned her in his arms, his fingers dragging across her flesh, and his lips found a painfully hard nipple to kiss. Her head tumbled back, her wild curls cascading down as she arched into his mouth. When he bit her nipple, she gasped before her nails raked into his scalp, but she did not pull him away. As Severus gently smoothed the abuse with his tongue, his palm tenderly caressed her other plump breast until Hermione trembled. She could fucking come from his play on her breasts.

She caught Severus' head between her clasping hands and dragged him up to meet her lips. There was no hesitation before their kiss. This was passion. This was what she had been missing, Hermione drowsily thought, as her mind slowed down to process every sensation of Severus' body moving in tandem with hers. The missing puzzle piece that left the picture incomplete with Ron. The colossal disappointment with Charlie as he should have been what she wanted. He had been the type she was attracted to, and could rev up her engines well enough, but something had been absent in their relationship. Passion.

This was the passion. With Severus hungrily kissing her mouth until her head turned dizzy. Stealing her breath until she could only pant. The taste of aged fire whiskey on his lips tingled her tongue. It was a fine bottle with all of the fire and none of the burn and as she licked it from his lips, teeth, and tongue, Hermione recognized that her life would never again be the same. And she felt no guilt at all. Not even a bit.

Severus rolled on top of her and Hermione welcomed his weight nestled between her thighs. She wriggled her hips enough to elicit a groan from him.

She could feel his cock through her jeans, could feel the thick length, but she wanted to _feel_ it. Severus had an earlobe between his teeth when he felt her wandering fingers push towards his crotch. He stiffened his posture, rigid atop the beautiful witch. It had been so long. So desperately long since a woman had wanted to touch his cock that he was mortified to think he might come before she reached it. Severus ground his hips into her yielding core, blocking off her mischievous hand's access while managing to stimulate her. He was not going to embarrass himself like a school boy.

"Please," she whispered in the voice of his fantasies. "Please can I touch it?"

Severus' resolve was already crumbling, especially with her other hand scratching at the nape of his neck like he was some goddamned Kneezle, which was not at all right, because it made him want to fucking purr like one. And rut like one.

"Witch," he hissed tensely, shutting his eyes tightly, shuttering her out. "Grant an old man some dignity."

Her amused laughter was low and husky, baiting him, but not mocking. "Severus," she crooned, her breath warming his neck, "I'll be a good witch. I promise. A very good witch. Besides, there's always time later for more."

More? The word tugged a reluctant smile from his lips. There would be more. He liked more. He wasn't certain if he could do more. Alcohol had turned his brain into a gummy marshmallow-like substance and it would be just his luck that _it_ wouldn't cooperate later, when there was time for more. But the promise dangled in front of him.

Before he could answer her, Hermione ground her pelvis around him wantonly. Frotting against his poor piteous trousers, goading him. Evil witch. Didn't she know he couldn't think when she did that. He rather suspected she did.

"Severus." The siren sang each syllable. Her naughty hand attempted to snake between them again. Ah well. Who was he to deny a red-blooded witch her due?

Her fingers traveled the length of him, tracing over his shaft through the thin cloth. She smiled as she discovered the absence of underpants.

"I want," she petulantly insisted, apparently finding what she sought very much to her liking. He wouldn't begrudge her that; like most wizards, he was rather proud of what hung between his legs, and the witch could make use of the dangling bits to her little heart's content.

"I want," she pouted, peeling with nimble fingers his fly open, untucking his shirt and wrenching it free. He stilled her to pull the shirt over his head and tossed it to join her bra in whatever dark corner of the cell it had landed.

Severus growled low in the back of his throat. Domineering witches had been a turn off every since Bella had clawed him to shreds. He was begging to give the witch what for, but once she gently fondled his balls, he was willing to negotiate. Hermione met her cunning objective and pulled his length free from its confines. In her hands it was in a much better location, and _it_ bobbed in hearty approval.

Turn about being fair play and all that, Severus set with single bloody minded determination to the task of ridding Hermione of those painted-on Muggle jeans. She was just as impatient and they were quickly shed. Once his drooling member and balls, aching for release, felt the contact of her hot naked thighs, he prayed for 'more.' Her flesh was incredibly soft to the touch and the scent of her arousal hung thick in the air. He didn't know if he had ever had a witch so soft.

He brushed his thumb over her panty-clad pussy and found her knickers soaked, and swore. Hermione writhed against him, butting her hips into his hand and squeezing his cockhead. Damned demanding witches. She wanted to come? He could make her come. Severus bit the join of her neck and shoulders, ignoring her high pitched wail that would undoubtedly be heard down the echoing corridors.

His fingers slid past her curls and inconvenient knickers to find her damp button. His thumb pressed on it, and circled it a few times before mercilessly sliding the slickened skin up and down. One, then two long fingertips located her slit and dipped into her heat, coming out drenched. Grunting and grinding his teeth with the effort not to let loose completely as she fisted him quite roughly, he thrust himself into her greedy hand. Severus found the spongy patch of her pink swollen cunt he was looking for, and proceeded to rub it in cadence with her clit. Her grip on him tightened as Hermione twitched and shook beneath him heaving in loud shallow pants. Severus pushed himself up higher on one elbow.

He had to see this if nothing else. If by morning she was disgusted by him, he needed to witness this. By the faintest light of a near moonless sky Hermione Granger exploded in a mass of spasms around his fingers, her hot juices filling his palm. Her eyes squinted shut and she fucking sobbed his name. His name.

Severus spilled himself in her hands and across her thighs, marking her, until he had nothing left.

Or at least he believed he had nothing left until later when she shed her knickers and roused him from a boneless slumber. They both were quite pleased to discover that parts of his anatomy were very happy to accommodate her. The second time she tried to wake him up, he wasn't budging. It wasn't like he was some kind of sex god.

"Go back to bed, H'miny," he muttered to the frizzy, tousle-haired witch curled against him. "Abuse me later," he mumbled.

His mantra in life had been an old Russian proverb, 'If you wake up in pain, you know you're not dead.' He knew that in the morning he would rise to the heaven of having his fresh curvy witch in his arms. But if she awoke and rejected him, it would kill him. He was sure of it. But he didn't think she would. He had made her twitch and sing.

There would be more. Of that he was nearly certain. The Gods be praised.

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter title: Scriptor Ventus Fabula Madidus - The scribe's favorite story of drunks (blame Christev)

Finally, a true SS/HG smut. It was bound to happen eventually. Actually, blame my beta Christev20 for this whole chapter. Go ahead. And she's already promised ciggies for everyone. Thank you Christev!

Thanks for reading luvs. AV


	40. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

To those readers particularly sensitive, most of this chapter is smut. It's located in the center, so read around the doc breaks.

* * *

**Chapter 40 - O! Plus! Perge! Aio! Hui! Hem!**

He felt her leave. His brain was smothered with a wet flannel, and yet he had the presence of mind to feel her stir and knew it would be only moments before he'd lose the furnace of her body heat pressed against him. A soft clink in the darkness foretold she had done as she'd promised and left him a bottle of hangover relief. Hermione wrestled with her jacket and things fumbling in the thin pink light of morning, before the wards on the door rippled and she was gone without a parting word or look. Had she turned back she would have seen Severus attempting to sit up, stringy morning hair pasted to his face, and the saddest look of abandonment upon his visage before he turned back into his pillow, needing a moment. A long moment.

He wasn't alone for long.

Her arrival at the Homestead drew a sigh from Severus' lips. He could immediately sense she wasn't angry with him, or regretting the night before. He couldn't bear it when Hermione turned her anger in on herself; it felt like a knife wound to his chest.

Severus smirked. If he had to guess the sensations he was experiencing, she was… singing? But definitely happy. The Gods were merciful indeed. It had been a very long time since he'd made a witch happy like this. Certainly he deserved a bit of celebration. But not more Firewhiskey. No, Nay, Never.

At least, not until the next time he wanted to get shitfaced.

He couldn't believe he had cracked open the bottle, all because she had warned him not to wait up for her while she spent the evening at a stupid party she had admitted she didn't want to attend. It seemed so juvenile in retrospect. The witch was bound to him in marriage and a Fidelity charm, and yet the mere suggestion that she'd be out dining and laughing with others made him want to pickle himself. He was a doomed man. By the light of day his irrational reasoning was petty, and he was paying dearly for it.

It felt like the sun in all its golden glory had decided to send bright cheerful rays straight to him to ensure he got a proper rise and shine. A pale hand struggled weakly from beneath his sheets to gently feel for the bottle of hangover relief she'd left for him on the bedside table. It wouldn't do to knock the damn thing over. Then he'd be forced to slurp it from the stone floor like a dog, because there was no way he'd go another moment without.

Feeling on top of the world, his fingers made contact with the elusive bottle; he flicked the stopper open with the well-practiced brush of his thumb and promptly chugged a measured mouthful. No sense wasting good potion. Not when there was plenty of Firewhiskey to be had another day.

Hermione arrived back at the Homestead with a stupid grin that would not be wiped off her face, even by house-elves who were less than thrilled by her presence in the kitchen. She shooed them all out after getting a quick tour of the larder and seeing everything she wanted. It was tantamount to anarchy and it was utter bedlam outside the kitchen door, but Hermione didn't spare them a second glance. She was officially ready to start singing her second Rodgers and Hammerstein song since marrying Severus. Only this time, her feet danced across the tiled floors as she carried flour and baking bowls, and she sang loudly, _'I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with the most wonderful guy!'_

She was horribly off key. She knew it. Hermione had often been informed by Harry that she sang like 'an asthmatic cat being beaten in a rubbish can.' She did not know all the words. She did not know most of the words. What she knew was the refrain and how singing it made her chest swell with a happiness she hadn't felt in ages. She did not believe she actually loved him. Maybe. She'd process those thoughts later. But she felt something. And it made her want to dance and sing in her kitchen. And that was enough.

* * *

It was nearly lunch when Hermione arrived back at Azkaban. She was as wind-tousled as usual, her hair pulled up into a messy pony tail, not a pinch of makeup to her, and looking absolutely perfect. A cleaned up and sober Severus greeted her, his relief briefly evident in his eyes, but only briefly. It was not for her to know how vulnerable she made him feel. That sort of information paved the well-trodden path to ruin.

"Hi'ya," she cheerfully greeted him once the heavy cell door opened. Hermione held up a large plate wrapped in Muggle tin foil. "Made you something."

"You cooked?" Severus asked evenly with a cocked eyebrow, noticing a smear of… chocolate? on her chin. "I was told you didn't cook. Have I caught you in a lie, Vixen?"

Her cheeky smile was infectious and Severus found himself grinning like an idiot along with her.

"Yep, you caught me. I can manage one dish with a small amount of success." As Hermione began peeling away the foil, Severus' nose began discreetly sniffing the warm rich aroma coming from her plate. "I absolutely adore chocolate chip griddle cakes. Although I did burn the side of one of them," she pouted.

"Chocolate griddle cakes? Hardly a nutritious breakfast, Hermione."

She shrugged nonchalantly, "Eh, there's never a bad time for chocolate."

Severus warily eyed the proffered plate and accepted a fork from her. "Hmm… it appears you prefer your chocolate with a little dab of griddle cakes, not the other way round. Still, I suppose I can manage a few bites."

It was difficult work eating the still gooey cakes. It took much intestinal fortitude and persevering to clean the plate, but Severus Snape was a man who understood personal sacrifice. Even the slightly burned cake was dutifully digested.

Feeling quite satisfied, at least gastronomically satisfied, Severus leaned back into the head board and made room for his witch at his side. With an odd shyness Hermione sidled up next to him and snuggled into his chest. The carbohydrates were pulling heavily upon his eyelids, but as he curled back into her, breathing in the tropical scent of her shampoo, Severus softly lifted her chin with his hand, idly brushed a stray curl from her face, and chastely kissed her sweet chocolate flavored lips.

Her fingers strayed to the line of buttons on his chest, fiddling with them in restless energy. It was a testament to how well he could read her that Severus knew she wasn't trying to undress him, but that didn't mean poking her was off the table.

"I should satisfy you every night, witch, if that'll mean breakfast in bed the next morning," he fished. "What do you think of that?"

Severus' lips quirked up as Hermione's apple cheeks suffused with color. It made her all the more delicious.

"I think," Hermione replied taking a deep lungful of breath, "I think, I would like that very much."

He leaned in for the kill, capturing her pink lips and savoring them until she gasped and had to come up for air. He smirked in triumph. Ah well, let her breathe if she must, he thought, spying her collarbone. The witch was a bountiful feast and he found himself quite starved.

Severus applied himself judiciously to the task of discovering exactly which pulse points made the witch moan, and moan she did. Adorable shallow gasping pants that grew breathier as she wiggled beneath him, and he hadn't touched any of the delicious parts yet. Severus' hand tickled her ribs, encouraging her to writhe against him, loving the sensual way Hermione pressed herself against his hardness. She gripped his head, each hand painfully grasping an ear, and Severus was about to loudly complain until she pulled his face down to meet a puckered nipple peeking through the opening of her blouse. Severus was never a man to argue with a witch.

"Clothes," Hermione drew a breath as Severus sucked her aureole into his mouth, "...off now."

He wasn't quite done, and Severus was certainly not in a hurry, until she moaned the most plaintive 'Please.' He was willing to give in just this once, if for no other reason than all of her other ideas thus far had been a hit. And well, he was really quite fond of where things were leading. He released her nipple with a _'pop'_ and smiled proudly at his witch.

Hermione's arms crossed her torso to lift her shirt as Severus hastily worked on his own buttons. His fingers weren't as deft as normal, but he was rather busy watching her, especially since she wasted no time stripping off her jeans and her knickers too. By the barely-there moonlight Severus hadn't actually had the opportunity to see her. He could feel her shapely curves and womanly softness, but could not watch her be revealed before him. That, and a fair share of alcohol had done its part. He suspected if he hadn't had the liquid courage he'd not have been so bold. But full daylight streamed through the high window, casting a square of light on their bed. He could see her creamy pale skin, the soft pink of her nipples, and golden brown of her curls that she showed to him without reservation, and was choked.

Now was not the time to be self conscious, not as she was already so deliciously naked, and had stayed in his bed overnight doing deliciously naked things, but there was a whole world of difference between nocturnal drunken molestation of each other and, well, not. His fingers stopped on the final two buttons of his shirt as Hermione crawled to him on her hands and knees. She sat in his lap at the end of the bed where he had made himself scarce, and pressed her bum into his thigh. Her fingers sifted through his locks before he belatedly realized she'd removed the thong that held them back, but he had a difficult time thinking when she scratched at his scalp. What woman had ever touched him there? The greasiness of his lank hair had always been a turn-off for most witches, though he had to admit her _Good Hair Day_ was a miracle shampoo.

"Severus?" she whispered coyly into his ear. He might have responded with something that sounded coherent, but doubted it. "Do I need to undress you?"

Her fingers traveled from the hollow of his collarbone down his breastbone, fingering the sparse black hair that curled on his chest. He was damned unattractive, had known it for years, and his looks hadn't improved with age. Time and hard living hadn't been kind either, but the way she fucking whispered into the shell of his ear, tickling his neck with her breath and sitting on his lap as though she enjoyed it, made him believe in the possibility that she didn't find him repulsive.

"You may," he whispered in return.

"Oh, goodie," she romped on his lap with a lascivious grin. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this. Now scoot. Stand up."

He tried to glare at the bossy witch giving him orders in his bed, except that he had a bossy witch in his bed, and he rather wanted to keep her there. Pin her there. Possibly shackle her there. That, and her bossiness was kind of a turn-on. He rather thought he could handle a pushy witch as long as he got to push back. He quickly found that an insistent witch was not at all a bad thing, though given his history with dominant females began and ended with Bella Black, that wasn't saying much. But in short order Hermione had him standing before his bed, completely starkers, and eagerly awaiting whatever other dandy idea came from her lips.

"Hm..." Hermione said thoughtfully resting on the edge of their bed, her head cocked and staring at him as if he was one of her lab experiments. "Walk towards me."

He complied, smirking as his penis 'accidentally' hit her chest. "It's as I imagined. You may back up again," she waved.

Severus was astounded with her level of chutzpah, but complied. He just knew he'd have to reassert his dominance in their relationship damn soon. Just as soon as she finished having her wicked way with him. He wasn't going to deny her that. Not when she looked at him with such hunger. He was prepared to be magnanimous.

"Shall I strut around for your pleasure, Vixen? Or do you just want me to stand here naked?"

"No," she remarked in an impertinent manner. Her wand was out and she was bent over her knees surveying the bed frame. Severus crossed his arms across his chest and glared at her. He didn't like begin ignored, especially not while so damned hard, although as she bent over he could see the elegant lines of her back and her pert rump wriggling in the air. It was a decent trade.

"Ah ha!" Hermione mumbled just as his bed dropped several inches. She looked up triumphantly. "Shall we try this again? Walk towards me."

He could only oblige the lady's request; it was the only decent thing to do. Hermione wasn't nearly content to have him stand before her; she nudged his legs apart and sat between them, giving her full access to all his bits, and that was just fine by him.

Severus rested his hands on her shoulders, relaxing as her hands traveled the path from his knees to hip, stroking his skin gently, drawing nonsensical patterns with her fingers. It was really quite comforting to have her massage his legs and torso, except for the sizable erection that he was sporting that she wasn't paying any bit of attention to or the precum leaking out of it. Hermione kissed his hipbone where it protruded slightly, nipping the sensitive flesh and running her tongue between it and his navel. Well. He supposed if she wanted to prolong his pleasure, that was acceptable, as long as he could at least drench her neck and tits with his come. His knees threatened not to hold his weight as she drew him in and nuzzled his groin. Was she smelling him? He rather suspected she was. Hermione's hands continued to massage his legs as she nestled her face, blowing hot breaths of air on his cock.

One small curious hand traversed the path around his hips to tickle his sac. "Fuck," he exhaled under his shallow breath as she cupped him, massaging him there too, with the lightest touch. Her other hand wickedly dragged its nails up the back of his leg to insinuate fingers between his legs; she found his perineum and softly pushed.

He was damn near close to grabbing her head, tilting it back and shoving his cock past those pretty pink lips, when her tongue reached out to swipe a taste of his shaft. His fingers tensed on her shoulder in anticipation, digging into the soft flesh of her arms. Hermione nestled again in at his base, huffing little puffs of air while her tongue darted out to wet him. In agonizingly slow strokes she began to wet his dick, licking paths in a random manner that suited her, acquainting herself intimately with the details of the veins that stretched along his shaft toward the swollen head. Her talented fingers continued their assault on his balls, rolling them around while he could feel her inching a single digit from his perineum towards his anus. He was spread wide and open to her and Hermione intended to use him well. She'd kill him. He'd come everywhere, paint her, the walls, and bedsheets in his come, and she would be the death of him.

She lifted her head to look up at him, and her glossy eyes were half lidded with such a look of desire on her face that Severus fucking groaned. She desired him. There was no uncertainty in his mind. Even without his wand or Legilimency he could read her so well; Hermione was that obvious. He couldn't pretend that he was just some cock she craved, or a random screw she fancied. Hermione desired him. By locking eyes with him, she communicated her intention. She wanted him to watch her pleasure him, wanted him to see that she was the witch bringing him to climax. Possessive little witch, as if he could imagine anyone else but her on the end of his dick. As if Severus could have looked away if he wanted.

Hermione pulled on him, her fingernails biting into the flesh of his arse, as her lips covered the weeping tip. She tasted it, sweeping her tongue around the head, collecting all the essences gathered there and greedily sucking for more. Severus' traitorous knees reminded him again they were unable to hold him if she continued that line of thinking.

"Hermione," he rasped, holding her head between his palms, but not pulling him from her task. He had a thought to complete, but could not and she sucked on him, drawing his cock into her warm mouth and sucking so hard, if he released her head he believed she might engulf him full. Severus leaned on her shoulders for greater support and remembered how to finish the thought he had started. "Hermione, I can't... I've got to lie down." Hermione slowly dragged herself off of him, circling his head before releasing him from her mouth.

Severus turned and collapsed into bed, his legs hanging over the side, and looked up at his self-satisfied witch. Well, she did rather have a talent to be proud of, but then so did Severus. "Come here, Vixen," he purred, "let me return the favor."

Hermione wet her lips and grinned, "I thought you'd never offer."

He pulled her towards him, angling those silken thighs to straddle his face as Hermione stretched like a cat on top of him, moving her hands down his hips to fondle his erection. She palmed him a few times, toying with him until his lips touched her wet nubbin. He swiped one finger around her quim before entering her. Then she was nuzzling him again and Severus' eyes rolled back as Hermione took him into her mouth in a torturous back and forth. Severus loved having her atop him like this, her legs trembling as she keened and ached for a blistering orgasm. He loved her mouth on his cock, her fingers tickling and probing. They fed off of each other, a connected circuit of hungry mouths and hands. As he sped up to fuck her slit with his tongue, she took him faster in her throat. If he slowed down to suck her clit between his teeth, Hermione laved his head. Both giving and receiving, begging and reaching for release together. Until that is, the greedy little witch changed the game.

She ignored him when he slowed down. Severus was trying desperately to hold back, trying not to come, to hold on to the sensation of the sweet mouth engulfing him. She must have heard the obscene grunts and moans that vibrated through her clit as his tongue scoured every inch of her pussy, trying to commit it to memory, but she kept distracting him from his task. Her quim was so slick and her taste amazing, but Severus could hardly concentrate on his task as she bobbed on top of him dragging her lips up and down his shaft with hollowed cheeks, sucking wetly on his tip and probing his pucker with a wet finger again. Severus swore, as he applied himself to eating out her fresh pussy that he'd pay the witch back threefold. He'd find out what made her pitch and wail. He'd study every pulse point and erogenous zone of her delectable body, and then he'd be merciless.

"Fucking hell," he roared into her folds as the tiny finger discovered his prostate at the same time she opened her throat to him. There would be payback, this he swore to the Gods themselves.

His lips pulled at the little bundle of her clit, sucking it into his mouth sharply before rolling the pearl with his rasping tongue. Hermione shivered, and Severus continued, his fingers penetrating her, the loud sucking sound of her fucked sex adding to the mix of groans and slurps. She shuddered, the scream in the back of her throat shot down his cock. Severus couldn't help it. It was impolite and she'd probably never want to take him so deeply into the back of her throat, but he bucked and jerked as she swirled his prostate and squeezed his sac. Hermione drenched his face with her warm honeyed juices as he emptied himself into her.

The unrelenting mouth that sucked him dry was soft and tender in cleaning him and Severus attended to her as well. Such sweet nectar was not meant to be wasted by dribbling down her thighs.

They relaxed together, she in his arms against the headboard of his now lowered bed. Stroking each other gently and nuzzling noses into necks. He rather liked the lowered bed. And the impudent witch in his arms.

"Hermione," he whispered.

"Hmmm?"

"Did you forget the silencing charm again?"

"Damn it!"

Severus could only chuckle as he pulled her down into the pillows and brought the blankets around them. A mid-day nap would be good. He knew all those months ago when she stepped into his cell that she'd run amok with his finely tuned personal schedule. Now he had proof. As he tucked the witch more snugly into his arms where she sighed contentedly, he was very happy she had.

* * *

Severus Snape was aware of a great many words used to describe him. Not many were as nearly unimaginative or uninspired as 'git.' He was quite self-aware and could adequately assess his strengths and weaknesses. Of all the terms he'd use to describe himself, a 'cuddler' was not one of them. Though, he supposed if he had to encircle her in his arms, he could manage. If she required it of him. Which, apparently she did, without asking, but the insistence was implied. It was a fair lot better than being cuddled. He couldn't abide the feeling of someone else's arms trapping him. Was he being paranoid? Possibly. Suspicious? Definitely. But he never put himself into positions where he couldn't readily reach his wand. And even in Azkaban where there was no wand to be had, he was still haunted by ghosts. Hermione wriggled her butt closer into his groin. He could manage this cuddling business. He could even manage a pushy witch.

His eyes had just succumbed to slumber when Hermione bolted up in his arms.

"What's that?" she shrieked.

"Bilge rat, my dear," he muttered groggily.

"Get it! Kill it! I hate rats."

"No."

"No?"

"No. I won't kill someone else's dinner. You and I are not the only people here in this unholy place. There are several other cell blocks, and not all inhabited by the Kissed, I'd imagine. I will not deny someone else the opportunity for nourishment."

"Have you eaten one before?"

"I have, and no, you may not ask any more questions on the subject. I do not know the nutritional content of a bilge rat. I do not know how they get past the warding; they're rats. I rather suspect they'll survive long after civilization has destroyed itself and this planet. Nor will I share any happy campfire memories of eating those filthy creatures with you, so resist the temptation to wave your hand in the air. I'm not your professor."

She looked hurt. Wretchedly, indescribably hurt. 'I'm sorry,' did not come easy to him. He had been taught as a child never to apologize for trivial things like hurting tenderhearted witches' feelings. He was only to debase himself with apologies if the infraction was great, the consequence severe, and he truly meant it. Saying 'I'm sorry,' just to be polite was not acceptable. It cheapened the contrition. But there were times in his past where he wished he had shed that pure-blooded programming his mother had insisted on instilling into him.

He wanted to say the words. It was obvious he had hurt her tenderhearted feelings. He didn't want her to become a wretch like himself by losing those tenderhearted feelings. He turned his face and was warmed by them like they were the sun. If he locked her up in prison with him he'd turn her. He rubbed off on people, and everything he touched turned to shit. He would ossify her heart and turn it cold. That was why she deserved to be free and he deserved his penance. He was not a nice man, and she was a very good woman.

"You always do that," she said in a hollow voice. "I know they might be inappropriate questions to ask, but you always shoot me down for asking questions. Why?"

She looked at him blankly, and he certainly didn't know how to answer _that_ question.

"You clearly ask too many questions," he said dismissively.

"And? A curious mind is the hallmark of intelligence."

"Next you'll probably tell me that the only stupid questions are the ones that go unasked," he sneered.

"They are," her eyes lit up in triumph as if he had made her point for her and ignoring the sarcasm. "Stupid is something that cannot be helped. Ignorance can be helped."

"Was that in Tuesday's fortune cookie?"

Her jaw clenched. He could see the lines of her mouth tighten and Severus knew he was one pussy-whipped wizard, because if he pissed her off he was risking his chances at more. And he was fond of more. More was really good.

He sighed wearily. "What is it you wanted to ask?"

"No, that's okay," she remarked bitterly.

"Hermione," he warned. He'd only play these games for so long. He'd not hand her his bits in a little silk bag.

"Any question I would have asked would be insensitive and possibly insulting. I get that, Severus, but I wish you wouldn't shut me down like that. You have no idea how much it affects me. I didn't just learn to stir potions in your class, I learned to doubt myself. To question myself. To weigh whether my curiosity was worth any embarrassment of asking. You taught me that whatever I had to offer your class didn't matter."

"Learning that life is a disappointment is a valuable life lesson. Modesty is a valuable lesson. Humility is as well. You forget, Hermione, that _I_ was the teacher. Potions class was not supposed to be The Hermione Granger Show. I did not need you to give my lectures for me, or for some student to try to show me up in class."

"You had a responsibility to encourage learning," she said shrilly.

Severus hoped now wasn't one of those times she went all out gorgon on him.

"You never encouraged me," Hermione continued.

"Of course not," Severus snapped. "You didn't need encouragement. Tell me Hermione, what do you remember of Tracey Davis' performance in class?"

Hermione racked her brain trying to answer, but had none. Davis hadn't stayed through N.E.W.T. level Potions and she had just sort of forgotten about her. "How should I know? I don't remember."

"No, you wouldn't, because Miss Davis hardly said a word. Ever. And yet her essays and potions often rivaled yours. She needed encouragement, not to be upstaged by a girl with something to prove. You did not need to reinforce your self-worth in my class. You did well enough in every subject to get your ego stroked on a daily basis. Sometimes life is not about you. There were sixteen other students in your Potions class."

She looked fragile then. Close to tears. And Severus hated that. He drew her into his chest and wrapped his arms around the woman who resembled much too closely the little girl she had been. He supposed it was too much to ask for a simple easy relationship with an uncomplicated witch who never contradicted him, misunderstood him, or defied his will, but then that wouldn't be Hermione. And that wouldn't be a witch he could want. Need. Love.

"I'm sorry your feelings were hurt," he whispered into the cloud of her hair. "I'm sorry you took it personally. I never wanted to hurt you. I don't ever want to hurt you."

She sniffed into his collarbone and Severus wasn't certain of how much face he'd lose from apologizing, but couldn't muster the energy to give a damn.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

She left not long after, saying she was heading off to check on one of Gibson's projects. Her eyes were a bit shiny, but she smiled and Severus was heartened. As she left, she promised she'd be back for dinner and some more.

* * *

A/N:

Chapter title: O! Plus! Perge! Aio! Hui! Hem! - Oh! More! Go on! Yes! Ooh! Ummm!

If you really care, the first Rodgers and Hammerstein song was _'Getting to Know You'_ from The King and I in chapter 18. _'I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with a wonderful guy,'_ is from South Pacific. Hermione strikes me as a showtunes fan. Deal with it.

Beta Note:

To all the wonderful readers: Even though I'm against smoking in principal, I feel you should all be given a cigarette after the events of the last chapter and this one! (Did I not tell you the scenes you wanted were coming? :) ) Thanks for your reviews - I'm feeling the love!


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**-This is another Not Safe For Work chapter-**

* * *

**Chapter 41 - Verveces Tui Similes Pro Ientaculo Mihi Appositi Sunt**

Hermione sat uncomfortably in what should have been a very supportive board room chair, sitting across from Hopper and his team of Muggle solicitors. The Muggle civil lawsuit was the first hurdle to cross, and she found it somewhat funny that the Muggle proceedings had taken less time to organize, whereas the Magical grievance into her business Hopper had filed hadn't moved a bit. Hermione rather suspected that Misters Ffoulkes and Tattings had a hand in that. Ever since introducing the two gentlemen they had gotten along superbly and she retained both.

But that was not what was causing her to shift back and forth in her seat. Hermione wasn't twitching because she was nervous going into the proceedings. Well, yes, actually. To put a fine point on it, she was a bit nervous about the proceedings, but her restlessness had more to do with the wonderful squish in her knickers.

She had stayed the night looking for comfort and a distraction, and he had been more than happy to provide both. That morning when she awoke in his arms, apprehensive and queasy from the idea of watching her company dissolve before her at the hands of the chinless wonder, Severus put his prodigious mind toward taking her anxiety and breath away by intimately acquainting her with his very talented fingers, mouth, lips, teeth and tongue.

A very thorough investigation by her husband, the consummate scientist, could not satisfactorily answer the question of which sensation she liked the best, when she screamed like a banshee when he used any of them. The bastard would not take 'all' for an answer. And had he not been asking such direct questions regarding his own judicious application of said talents, Hermione would have been hard pressed to say exactly what it was he'd been doing. Severus considered it earth-shattering research.

He had just come to the spectacular conclusion that sucking on her clit while tickling her sweet spot could make her come like a fountain, as opposed to fucking her with his tongue while his nose mashed in her clit only made her wantonly grind her pelvis into his beautiful nose. She was now rather fond of that nose. Sweat soaked, she had just come down from her amazing high when she noticed the time. She was going to be late.

Hermione donned last night's rumpled clothes as quickly as she could and had only just pointed her wand on herself to hastily cast a cleansing charm to get rid of the scent of sex that clung to her, when that bastard stayed her hand. Severus warned her there would be no 'more' later that night if she took any measure to clean herself. Hermione smirked as she remembered him whispering that the scent of a sated woman was heady and would throw them for a loop. 'Press the advantage,' he had hissed. 'You'll have them thinking about your soaked knickers instead of business at hand.'

She couldn't argue with Slytherin distraction techniques, even though she suspected it had more to do with his odd desire to 'mark' her. She was not territory, but then again, she liked a possessive Severus.

As she had dashed out towards the Apparition courtyard a red-faced Billy Mulciber mumbled something that sounded appallingly similar to, 'The corridors echo, you know.'

They were nearly ready to begin and the Auror she had requested to witness the proceedings still had not shown up. It should not have been a difficult favor to call in, and yet it was met with covert hostility. He had said he hardly had any time to spare and could not stick around to chit-chat. Hermione understood. Chief Inspector Auror was a big position and heavy with responsibility, but there was also that doubting voice in the back of her mind, whispering that he was avoiding her.

Mr. Ffoulkes shuffled his paperwork, a sign Hermione had learned meant he was annoyed, while her other counsel, Mr. Tattings, reviewed a memorandum. She glanced at the clock. If he stood her up, she would have his guts for garters.

Fifteen minutes past the hour, Harry dashed in mumbling apologies and took a seat at the far end of the table from her. She was grateful that he remembered to dress in Muggle attire instead of his crimson Auror robes. It was a trade-off that he looked less imposing without them, but Hermione smirked when the Douchebag choked at seeing the well known wizard. Even when dressed to blend in, Harry stuck out. His lightning bolt scar was not as red and raw as it had once been, but it was there, and his shaggy-haired look was unmistakable.

Beneath the table Mr. Ffoulkes surreptitiously waved his wand. Mr. Tattings grinned.

Twenty minutes into the proceedings Hermione was also grinning. Hopper had two Muggle solicitors sitting on his side of the table and she had already nick-named them Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-dumberer.

"I'm sorry, but we cannot find record of Mr. Hopper's employment," Mr. Ffoulkes stated.

"They cannot find record of Mr. Hopper's employment," Tweedle-dumb repeated.

"Do you have proof of your employment, Mr. Hopper?"

"Do you have proof of your employment, Mr. Hopper?" Tweedle-dumberer asked, genuinely perplexed.

"Well, ah," Hopper shifted nervously, "That is to say, ah, no. I have a bank stub from Gringotts."

Mr. Tattings smiled, and it reminded Hermione of a predator who had just scented an easy kill. She was rather glad she had introduced the two. Ffoulkes seemed to rub off on him well. "Really?" he purred, "I've never heard of such a bank. Tell me, where is Gringotts located?"

"They, uh, have branches around London." Hopper gritted his teeth knowing full well he could not afford to answer any questions. The moment he mentioned anything in the wizarding world, he knew he'd be dragged off by the famous Auror Harry Potter for breaking the Statute of Secrecy.

Mr. Ffoulkes put down the paperwork he had been sorting through and pierced his gaze directly at the glassy-eyed Muggle solicitors. "A word of advice, gentlemen. Drop your client. It's rather apparent he's wasting your time. Yes?"

"Yes," they echoed.

The men were not Imperiused, just given a strong near-hypnotic suggestion, and Ffoulkes assured her it was in no way illegal. He was certain of it. The spell didn't work well on wizarding folk, but worked much like a Fascination for Muggles and they always ate it up. Hermione bit her lip to keep from adding, _'These aren't the Droids you're looking for.'_

Once his counsel left him, Hopper sat back looking winded and pale.

"Auror Potter, are you satisfied with the proceedings and willing to sign a sworn affidavit attesting to the fact that there was no wrongdoing here?" Mr. Ffoulkes asked.

"Yes, Sir," Harry responded easily.

"Jolly good."

Harry took that as his cue to bolt out the door. Hermione watched him go with narrowed eyes. He must have known of her intent to snag him on his way out.

"This! This!" Hopper sputtered, having regained his bearings.

"This is what you can expect every time we lock horns, Mr. Hopper," Ffoulkes interrupted. "As you can plainly tell, and as Auror Potter will attest, we violated no magical law. The integrity of our people is safe, which is more than I can say for the jeopardy you've brought to our doorstep by involving Muggle authorities and proceedings."

Mr. Ffoulkes and Tattings, apparently of one mind on the matter, rose in unison from the table. Tattings delivered the parting shot. "One more thing, Mr. Hopper. Drop the wizarding lawsuit. It's frivolous and the Wizengamot does not enjoy having their time wasted. I should know, I play golf with most of them."

Heart soaring and feeling free, Hermione exited the boardroom jubilant and hoping never again to see that odious wizard.

"My dear, you have my congratulations," Ffoulkes offered. Tattings followed suit.

As nice as celebrating their victory was, Hermione was anxious to leave. A wizard to the North was waiting to add his own personal celebration.

"We won!"

Severus could hear it echoing off the flagstone, Hermione's voice turning high pitched and slightly girly. He smirked and binned his paper.

"We won!" Hermione jubilantly cried.

Severus couldn't help but break into a genuine smile as he heard his excited witch hastily tap his ward-code into the door frame. As the wards were shimmering, Hermione had it wrenched open, hardly hesitating before throwing herself into his chest, fitting herself perfectly underneath his chin. Severus embraced his wriggling witch feeling her warm body pressed against his, the light scent of tuberose wafting off her Muggle clothes and closed his eyes, committing to memory the sensation of his Hermione filling his arms.

"We won," she breathed into his collar. "We won!"

Severus lifted an amused eyebrow over the top of his witch as she clung to him in a fierce hug. The daft girl had left his cell door completely open. Not that anyone minded really, but perhaps it was best not to flaunt their special status, one no doubt purchased by Hermione's generous nature and curry take-away. But he did not have the opportunity to make a witty remark, as Hermione's greedy lips pressed to his and the arms that had been wrapped around his waist were eagerly untucking his shirt. "Ah," he sighed into her collarbone as she nibbled on an earlobe, the sacrifices he made to keep his witch happy.

"We won!"

"So I heard," he murmured lowly into her halo of wind-whipped corkscrew curls, calming her with his gentle tones. "I believe congratulations are in order."

Hermione glanced up at him flashing a predatory grin. "Oh yes, you must congratulate me," she backed Severus up until his calves hit the lowered bed.

Severus sat and raised Hermione's narrow pencil skirt up her hips, gripping her there and lowering her on to his lap.

"Ms. Hermione? Is everything alright?" Billy's voice interrupted from the open door way. He looked in and saw the couple in an intimate embrace and blushed crimson. "I…uh… the alarms said the door was left open," he mumbled to the ground before swinging the door shut and casting his own silencing charms. Azkaban was a place accustomed to shrieks and moaning, but Ms. Hermione's could be heard throughout most of the echoing place, and it wasn't the kind of moaning they'd heard much before. He shook his head and trudged back along the corridor.

Hermione had taken hold of Severus' hair rather violently, pulling on his scalp and wrenching his head to the side to give her the access she craved to his jugular where she applied her tongue and teeth to nibble him to death.

"The Wizengamot petition," Severus rasped, "what of that?"

Hermione traced a slow path up to his earlobe, sucking it in and biting slightly before whispering, "Done and gone."

Severus moved his hands up and down her curved hips, sliding them beneath the hem of her untucked dress shirt and gripped the soft flesh of her torso. "Thank the Gods, I was beginning to fear I'd have to pay him a personal visit."

Hermione sat back on his knees, pinning him with wide eyes, "You'd do that?" she stuttered.

"If I had to," he frowned. This was not the type of pillow talk Severus was interested in engaging. "If need be, I would have seen to Mr. Hopper myself."

"You'd leave Azkaban?"

Severus rolled his eyes, "Only for as long as I needed to convince Mr. Hopper to seek his fortune elsewhere."

"But you'd leave."

"Yes," he hissed. "You, witch, are mine. Prison or not, it's my duty to protect you." He noticed immediately how her eyes became slightly glassy and recalled how flushed and eager she became when he had vocalized his willingness to become violent on her behalf.

Strange witch had a need to feel possessed, a rather good fit given Severus was rather possessive of the witch straddling his thighs, pressing her pink underwear against the tight bulge in his trousers. His fingers smoothed along the tips of her nipples poking through the constricting material, before reaching behind her to the clasp. Her breasts bounced free and Severus attended to them, drawing the pads of his fingers against her delicate skin, smoothing and tracing as she arched back offering herself to him.

"What would you have done," she gasped, and Severus moved to slide her outer jacket off her shoulders. They dropped in a heap below as Severus turned his attention to the little pearl buttons that dotted her shirt.

"I believe I've answered that already once before, Vixen." He exposed her soft tummy and the ridges of her ribcage, the bra that hung loosely around her chest, and her soft breasts tipped with swollen pink nipples, and revealed the hollow of her neck before sliding the shirt off completely. Severus gently pulled each bra strap down her arms, using the lightest touch to prick the hairs on her arms up. "I would leave in early evening, just as Mr. Cooley took over the swing shift," he growled softly into her ear.

"You couldn't get out of this cell," she interrupted.

Severus resisted rolling his eyes again. Was she really that dense? "The wards are programmed with a simple pass code which just so happens to be my prisoner number. I knew this within my first week. Accessing it from the inside, even with the magical dampeners inside here would be difficult, but not insurmountable. And once out I would slip into my Animagus form for greater stealth.

"Mr. Mulciber and Mr. Cooley both carry dragon heartstring wands that are compatible with my magic; Stunning them wandlessly and disarming them would not be a challenge." Hermione was loose on his lap, feeling boneless as he pulled her into him. Severus shifted slightly and laid back on the bedspread, Hermione's weight pinning him slightly as he moved her hair to the side to whisper in her ear.

"From there I'd Apparate to the mainland and quickly snap the wand. I'd travel by Muggle means, Confounding and Fascinating them wandlessly until I could make it into London. My old contacts are no doubt all gone or have been pushed further underground, but there are still plenty of fine upstanding moral citizens whom I could call upon for aid." Severus stopped to smirk at his witch who was shamelessly grinding her hips atop him.

"Even without means, blackmail is still an effective currency, and in that department I am loaded. Finding your Mr. Hopper would take very little effort. I'd wait, stalking him, and learning his movements, watching for an opportunity. And when he was alone and unguarded I'd cut him with my knife and let him die like a common Muggle. I'd leave him to bleed out on the streets and make my way back to this cell."

Hermione gasped and raised her head to look at him with something akin to horror and desire. "You wouldn't," she whispered, her lower lip trembling slightly.

"Of course I would," Severus returned coldly. "And I'd be perfectly justified in doing so. Nobody fucks with my witch."

Every word was true. He felt it in the fiber of his being. Severus knew he'd never leave Azkaban for himself. He was a poor worthless sod who deserved to be locked away, but for Hermione, he'd do anything. He could never save himself, but he'd risk it all to save her. The ferocity of his belief must have shown through, because Hermione recognized the truth in his darkened glimmering eyes.

She stared at him as if she'd never really gotten a good look at him, and Severus grimaced. He'd told her he wasn't a nice man. He had warned her he was a Death Eater. Given the circumstances, stabbing the carotid artery or splitting his neck from ear to ear was downright merciful. It wasn't like he was going to hang the wizard upside down and slowly flay him, though the idea did have its own appeal. Severus worried that he'd crossed a line between Hermione's fantasies of being with a bad boy and the reality of what that meant.

He smoothly switched gears, "But it won't have to come to that now. You've won. You beat him, Hermione." Severus tried to infuse his words with enough enthusiasm to distract her while rubbing small circles into her back.

"Oh, yes," she said absently, her eyes focused on a point beyond his head, "we won."

"And that deserves a reward," he purred seductively. He needed to distract her; he knew she had no real stomach for bloodshed, just schoolgirl delusions of being with a man who she couldn't take home to mummy and daddy. And Severus was not 'meet the parents' material.

As his lips touched hers, Severus was able to disengage her mind from the swirling thoughts that troubled her brow. He deftly drank from her mouth, guiding her to respond as he reached behind her and unfastened the skirt bunched around her waist. He wanted his witch; the time for small talk was over.

Severus rolled on top of her, and Hermione moaned and threw her hands above her head, wantonly displaying her chest to him. Severus cupped her beautiful full mounds, running his tongue between the valley and licking at her tightened peaks. He pulled back and stood at the edge of the bed, running his hands down her torso, and easing her skirt past her hips, dragging the material across both knees, to drop alongside the other discarded clothing. He took a moment to watch her, his eyes roaming between her messy curls that surrounded her head to the milk-white and pink sight of her breasts, to her pantyhose and scrap of fabric that barely concealed her treasure. His treasure.

Severus lifted a foot and kissed her arch, nuzzling the satiny nylon clad foot just a bit before turning to the other foot which Hermione proffered to him. Wanton Vixen. He lightly bit the flesh of her arch and stroked the tightened muscles, his eyes locked upon hers. Her chocolate brown eyes had gone soft and glassy again, half lidded and drowsy. Severus much preferred her like this as he smoothed and manipulated her shapely calves. Hermione obliged him by lifting her hips when he slid his thumbs beneath the top of her nylons and pulled them down, taking her knickers down in the process. She waited writhing on the bed, stretching out arms towards him as Severus plucked at the buttons on his shirt before stripping it off.

Severus stood proudly before her in the full light of day, his charcoal high-waisted trousers showing off his trim abdomen and flexing slightly the wiry muscles of his shoulders. She squirmed and sat up, reaching for him again in earnest as her arms encircled his waist and Hermione pressed her head into his hardened crotch, scenting him. His witch had no shame. No hesitation. Hermione wanted him.

Her desire for him, though she'd displayed it readily every time they came together and their naked flesh touched, still surprised him. Not even the puckered scar on his neck or the graying shadow of his mark repulsed her. Her impatient fingers worked his trousers open and Severus stepped out of them and kicked them away; Hermione's face inches from his dick was the only thing he could focus on. He pushed her back into the mattress and followed her to the top of the bed, spreading her knees and sinking into her welcoming thighs. His spine and lower back tingled in anticipation.

Hermione sighed loudly under the pressure of his body, and warmth of his masculine heat touching her. She rubbed her chest against him and tilted her neck to the side allowing Severus' lips to make her dizzy by kissing at the junction of her throat and shoulder. His fingers slid between them, to test her quim, and found Hermione slick and perfectly read for him. His touch to her bud sent her keening and grinding on his hand.

"Mine," he growled in her ear.

"Yours," she whispered in return.

He felt warm liquid bubbling up his shaft and bursting at the tip, the precum leaking out as Severus stroked her folds with his cock. Taunting her, but not entering her as she begged with breathy gasps for him to fill her. Little shivers buzzed and raced around the small of his back.

"Tell me you want me," Severus rasped.

"Oh god, yes," Hermione breathlessly panted.

"Tell me, Vixen," he choked. On his lips the words, 'you love me' were swallowed, a fraction of a second before they were uttered. He could not ask that. No, not ever. If she said no, if she hesitated at all, he would be lost. Best never to ask. Best never to say it first.

"Oh yes, please Severus," she she pleaded bucking her hips lightly into his, reveling at the slight contact their bodies made. Hermione bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming out and Severus made an oath he'd break the witch of the habit. Damned erotic, but not now. Not when he needed to hear every fucking sound.

Severus swore lightly, committing her desperate voice to memory before guiding himself to sit at her hot entrance. He nudged the tip in and Hermione moaned. She was so wet and hot, sliding into her tight channel took no effort. Severus groaned as he filled her, seating himself completely in the witch.

The tingling at the base of his spine exploded.

Severus instantly softened, as useless as a dead Flobberworm.

"Fuck!" he swore, beating his fist into the yielding pillow by her head.

"Severus?" Hermione asked dazedly. She clenched him with her inner muscles, feeling the slackened penis inside of her. Absently Severus catalogued the feeling of her around him, her softness and firm muscles gripping him, the depth that he filled her, and how she felt, her pelvic bones resting against and cradling his balls between them. Because he knew he ought to take the opportunity to enjoy his wife while it lasted.

"Fucking wards," he mumbled dejectedly into her hair. He flexed and wiggled just a bit, hoping beyond hope his erection would return. He knew it wouldn't, it probably wouldn't participate until he withdrew from her.

"Of course," she sighed, her shoulders sagging. Severus began shamefacedly pulling away, when Hermione stilled him. "Just one more minute," she whispered. "Please Severus, don't move just yet. Just stay there for a bit and let me feel you inside me, even like this."

Severus paused, stock still and unmoving, his face an unreadable mask as she held him contentedly close to her body, Hermione's soft sighs causing him to clench his teeth. He felt humiliated, a burning disgust that radiated from the pit of his stomach and made him nauseous. Finally joined with his wife, buried balls deep inside her, and unable to do anything about it. He was unable to perform as a man, and yet there Hermione was, flexing around him, begging to stay within her so she could make a memory of what it was like to finally make love to her husband. There was no mercy in the world.

"It shouldn't be like this," he said softly.

"I know, but it's okay," Hermione reassured him, stroking the curve of his back with the lightest whisper of fingertips. "We'll manage."

Severus caught himself before he laughed. A hysterical laugh born of frustration and a tight feeling in his chest he refused to name. He was impotent and unable to fulfill his obligations as a man, and Hermione, the offended party with a lifeless dick hanging in her, was trying to sooth his bruised ego. He hesitated and turned a fearful eye towards her, nearly expecting a look of disgust, or worse yet, pity, to betray her gently spoken words. She was waiting for him to turn his face towards her, and smoothed her fingers down his face, brushing his misshapen nose and cheeks. Hermione placed a light kiss on his lips, it was a thin balm for his humiliation, but nevertheless it soothed.

They both had known per prisoner restrictions the wards made it impossible for him to impregnate his wife. They both had known that per his life sentence he was ineligible for conjugal visits, and prison regulations had specifically spelled out that he would be unable to penetrate her. But until then neither had known precisely what that meant. Severus was slightly amazed he'd been able to enter her at all. Not that it was much consolation for the humiliation of a soft cock inside of her unsatisfied body.

After a long moment of dwelling Severus spoke again, daring to hope that his brilliant know-it-all witch could somehow, 'magically' make everything all right again. "You can't lift the wards, can you?" he asked beneath a quirked eyebrow. He thought not, but it was best to ask. She was the witch with the wand who had familiarized herself with the warding when she fixed the climate controls.

"Maybe if it were cell specific, but I think the enchantment is over the entire prison. I'd have to play with all of Azkaban's wards to find the right one, and that's not likely to go unnoticed."

He acknowledged her logic with a grunt and rolled to the side of her, pulling himself wetly from her, and Hermione snuggled into his shoulder. He held the curve of her hip tightly and gently asked if she wanted him to pleasure her. Just because he was quite literally fucking useless, didn't mean he would ignore her needs. She smiled at him softly, drawing her fingers lightly down the bridge of his nose and sadly tracing the lines of his cheeks and lips again. She paused to trace the deep line between his brows, a gesture that eased the tension of his budding headache, and Severus relaxed into her ministrations.

"No, Severus, I have all I need right here," she responded. He was certain she was trying to be comforting, but Severus was in no mood to be placated like a child, and scowled in return.

Hermione sighed deeply, and smiled to herself. Maybe this was a good thing, she rationalized. Perhaps it would be the impetus he needed to join her at the Homestead, after all, sex was a big motivator.

Severus vowed then and there, one fist tightly clenching a pillow, his other fist gripping his bride's hip - if he ever left Azkaban he'd fuck his wife so hard and often their marriage bed would have a permanent Hermione-shaped indentation.

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter title: Verveces Tui Similes Pro Ientaculo Mihi Appositi Sunt - I have jerks like you for breakfast

Special thanks for help on this chapter to Christev20 and Mischevious_t for the assistance in overhauling this chapter.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a review, I love hearing from you. AV


	42. Chapter 42

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 42 - Nihil Curo De Ista Tua Stulta Superstitione **

The Homestead hadn't had showers when she began to replumb the bathrooms. Showers were tacky Muggle inventions, but honestly, Hermione thought it was their loss as she stepped under the generous rain shower flow. She had once heard the great Egyptian Pharaohs had indulged in them, their numerous servants pouring jugs of water over them by hand. Not that she'd ever use her house elves thus – the thought made her shiver uncontrollably under the warm spray. Still, they had the right idea. Hermione had built her shower to fit her ideal, with multiple shower heads working in tandem for pure hedonistic bliss.

She allowed the coursing water to hit the back of her neck, its pulsing beat working the stiff kinks out of her shoulder. Hermione resolved that the first thing she was going to do when she got her hands on her freed husband was to have him take her there on the tile. She'd even installed a bench in the center of the shower cabinet that had all sorts of devious suggestions attached to it. If they made it to the showers. She'd have to reassess that plan. But the plan, and the bench, definitely needed proper consideration.

She reached for her bottle of Good Hair Day. It made her curls corkscrew up into perfect little doll curls, but she knew Severus preferred them when they were just about blown out and hanging heavily. Well, with a simple charm that was easy enough to manipulate. Hermione lathered up the miraculous blend, the suds pouring down her neck and a few stray bubbles falling into her face as she massaged the lather into her locks. Her hand fumbled, feeling blindly along the tile for the hand sprayer, and she tilted her head back, rinsing all the suds out. The urge to move the hand sprayer further south was tempting. Very tempting, but oddly she wanted her first orgasm of the evening to come from her husband. So she was a good girl. But that would only last so long.

Properly rinsed, she grabbed the tub of pomegranate sugar polishing scrub. Pomegranates were a symbol of fertility to ancient civilizations, their multitude of suggestive seeds and bursting fruit a metaphor for carnal delights. It went a long way to explain why sweet, innocent Persephone was shuttered away in Hades for consuming some of the seeds. Hermione liked it because it left her skin silky. The sugar sloughed off dead skin and it left a thin layer of moisturizing sweet almond oil behind.

She stayed under the wash for a few more minutes, lingering in the steamy environment, her thoughts straying to her husband. She imagined he was likely lounging casually on their bed, hopefully with a few shirt buttons undone. A periodical would be propped up in front of him, and one of his highly dubious, but thoroughly sexy smirks gracing his features as he examined the merits of whatever had caught his interest. He was a man who had no clue how delectable he was. It was unconscionable. She gave the hand held shower head a second glance before wistfully turning off the taps.

After lightly toweling off, Hermione reached for a pink silken bag and the accompanying feather duster with a look of greedy anticipation. She had purchased the body powder from the adult novelty shop where she'd purchased her unsatisfying glittery purple substitute for Severus. The canister promised the talc was light and kissable with a sweet strawberry and champagne flavor. Well, that seemed to fit the bill nicely. She primed the duster and began sweeping the fine powder along her body, lingering in sensitive areas where she wanted him to pay attention. The dust clung to her oil-softened skin, and Hermione imagined Severus might just kiss every inch. She swiped her tongue across the inside of her wrist and smiled at the sweetness. Her husband might devour her. There were worse things in life.

Once she was happy with her preparation, Hermione padded lightly into her bedroom and opened her lingerie drawer. To call it a lingerie drawer was really an insult to lingerie drawers the world over. Sensible cotton bikinis and bras made for support, not enticement, did not qualify as lingerie. Sadly, Hermione did not own a trousseau. She had dated two Weasley brothers. Ron and Charlie. There had been other wizards she had briefly met with and dated, but none were 'stay the night' material. And well, as much as she loved her Weasley men, they only needed a peek at suggestive cleavage to get them going. Wearing lacy knickers or a sexy negligee was a waste.

Staring at her practical undergarments, she rather wished she had something nice to wear for Severus. Something that looked as sexy as she felt. Ah well, some of the best advice she'd been given through the years was 'If you feel confident, comfortable and sexy, it doesn't matter what you wear; it'll shine through.' She picked out her best set of bra and knickers and rather hoped that was true. She didn't even own a fancy garter belt and silky nylons. And though he'd already stripped them off her once before, control top pantyhose with reinforced toes were decidedly unsexy.

Hermione dressed and applied a little bit of makeup. She critically surveyed herself and the tasteful burgundy robes she'd selected. They were strategically chosen for their flattering cut and ability to be lifted over her head in one easy move. Humming a little tune, she grabbed her satchel and headed out into the night.

Before she made it to Azkaban, she stopped along her route in Hogsmeade for some of Severus' favorite Italian take-away.

Hermione waited impatiently in line, tapping her foot, barely bothering to hide her disgust. Somehow she expected more, better, and faster out of the wizarding world, but customer service sucked just as much there as it did in the Muggle. And standing in line for take-away was a monumental inconvenience. Well, it was when she had Severus waiting for her. And it didn't help that in front of her, a pair of lovers were swallowing each other's faces. It didn't disturb her as it might have disgusted others who disapproved of their unseemliness. The public display only made her head turn in wistful longing.

The line trudged slowly forward, inch by inch. All she had to do was ask for a number 2 and a number 7 and drinks, then she could quickly leave and get on with life. Hermione hated wasting time. Time was measured carefully, to be spent wisely. She had always felt the most precious time was the scant moments spent in bed when she was awake and refreshed, before the alarm rang. Now, precious time had a very different definition. She could have drawn a line through her day delineating real life from the fantasy of life they mimicked in Severus' cell.

She preferred the fantasy. It made real life so tedious. Her job had always been overwhelming, but it was her passion, and her drive. One project after another to throw herself into, and now… It was so heavy. She felt so burdened by the load.

Not that she'd dare tell Severus, but Hermione secretly dreamed of selling Granger Industries off. Or closing the factory and selling the rights. Something, anything to be rid of it. If she hadn't been saddled by responsibility, she might have finished her education. Taken her N.E.W.T.s, and reconciled with her parents. She could have gotten a nice respectable job with the Ministry or doing something she could be proud of. She was not particularly proud of being the manufacturer of the wizarding world's number one shampoo. Some wizards or witches might have been; Hermione was not.

Best of all, when the damned Marriage Law was passed, Hermione would have been free to abandon the country and take up refugee status like the other terrified witches who had left. She could have started a new life elsewhere. God, that thought appealed to her. As her thoughts spun round her in wonderful fantasies of having a fresh start she found herself at the head of the line. Minutes later, she Apparated along to her destination with Severus' dinner.

* * *

Severus flicked the soft pheasant quill thoughtfully against his chin before scribing the first few lines of his missive to Ffoulkes. With Hopper properly run off, he had no need to horde gold in case Hermione's business failed. And her handling of his lichen and mushroom fortune had actually made him quite a wealthy man. Really, for the first time in his life, Severus could afford to woo a witch properly, and was in a position to do so. Now, with so many possibilities open and available to him, he didn't know what to do with himself. Or what to ask of Ffoulkes.

Andrew Ffoulkes was a happily married wizard. He had settled down with his Hogwarts sweetheart, and fifty years later they were still disgustingly together. Severus had taught their only child Dorothy beginning in his first year as a professor, and remembered she was not a natural at potions, but managed well enough. Which was to say, in seven years she never made unidentifiable sludge, blew anyone up, melted any cauldron, or created a poisonous gas cloud that would suffocate them all in seconds. Given that, she exceeded his expectations. Severus fully expected that each and every one of his little bastards would try to kill him and all their mates.

But Ffoulkes would know what to buy a witch, to make her happy. Severus still had a few more of his mother's heirloom trinkets in his vault, not that there were many to begin with, but still, that well would dry up soon enough. And he really wanted her to have something from him, just because. She'd worn the Valentines pearl drop earrings a few times, and on most days the silver bracelet he'd given her for Yule peeked out from her sleeve, but Severus wanted to get her something 'just because.' Maybe surprise her with a Happy Wednesday! Which probably meant that somewhere along the way, he'd sawn off his testicles and handed them over to the witch. She owned him. Completely. Wanting to give a gift to say 'I love you, I'm in love with you, thank you for being my wife,' not only made him into a pussy, but a fucking coward as well.

Then Severus stilled. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. Well, a 'just because' gift wasn't in the cards. He realized Hermione's birthday was approaching and he had no ideas of what to do for her. He needed Ffoulkes. Desperately. Before he could finish the first embarrassing line to Ffoulkes, Severus heard Hermione's dainty footfalls in the corridor.

She paused and laughed, it was not a pretty or girly laugh, but womanly and rich. Severus resisted the urge to flatten his ear against the jailer's slot, and instead slowly packed up his lap desk and quills. He heard a snort and guffaw that carried loudly. Mulciber. Whatever he said in return, Hermione found it hilarious because she was laughing again. It had to be silly and comical, because he highly doubted the boy could do witty repartees and clever comebacks. That's what he did. He was known for his dry humor and intelligent quips, and Hermione always laughed at those.

Severus shook his head and relaxed his clenched hands, where his fingernails were dug into the flesh of his palm. He was being jealous and petty. She was free to laugh. Of course she was. It was even possible for the lout Mulciber to make her laugh. Though Severus guessed he only told 'Dick and Fart' jokes, but Hermione was welcome to appreciate that style of uninspired comedy, if she wanted to. If she liked that sort of thing. Perhaps she did. He supposed he really didn't know. He supposed he really ought to get his labored breathing back to normal before she opened his cell. He had the strangest urge to fling open the door and tell that boy to take a few steps back from his wife.

Right, breathe.

They had a Full Fidelity charm, solid and airtight. Well, mostly airtight because the wizard who put the moves on his witch would find his airway violently constricted. And there was no mercy whatsoever built in for a wizard who uncharitably touched her in an intimate way. The charm still didn't keep males from chatting her up, or looking down her blouse, or at her lush bum, shapely calves, and pouty lips, which were especially kissable when she nibbled on them. And the males of the wizarding species were sex-obsessed animals, just as bad or worse than Muggle males. Hermione came into contact with males daily. Granger Industries even employed wizards. Severus would break any of their necks if they even so much as contemplated making a pass at her, but that thought wasn't helping his breathing in the least. And Hermione was approaching his door.

He closed his mind and envisioned a starry night. The field of pitch black sky dotted with faint twinkling diamonds. He mentally shifted forward, picking out a patch of sky and focused on a point between clusters of stars. He shifted forward several more times, zooming in on the black patch of nothing until his field was nothing. Just an eternal expanse of ever expanding universe. He knew there were more stars beyond what his eye could perceive, but he could conceptualize this nothingness as it presented itself, and it was a blank space that even the Dark Lord could never penetrate.

His disciplined mind properly Occluded, Severus breathed deeply and rolled his shoulders. Using his well practiced skill, he began relaxing his body from the tip top of his head, following down his spine until he reached his toes. By the time she was standing before him, her head quirked at an angle, Severus was both perfectly aware of his world and utterly at peace with it.

"Good evening," she said nervously, before leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

It was an uncommonly kind gesture that he wasn't accustomed to, and Severus worried his brow. "Only a kiss on the cheek, Vixen?"

"Oh, um, as much as I wanted to, I thought it might be bad form to launch myself at you and pin you to the mattress."

Severus' nose twitched like he was going to sneeze before a wicked smile slowly spread across his face. "And is that what you wanted to do? Pin me to the mattress? Have your way with me and accost my person?" His eyes glittered in their depths as he displayed his amusement.

"Uh-huh," she replied, suddenly feeling very much like he was toying with her, but uncertain how to play along. Why did he always do that, she wondered. She could go toe-to-toe with any wizard, and look them straight in the eye if she had the proper heels, but Severus Snape threw her entirely off her game. Especially when her sensible knickers were already soaked for him.

Severus spread his arms out wide, the rolled back cuffs of his starched white shirt exposing the faint graying lines of his half hidden Dark Mark. "So what's stopping you?"

She might have paused to answer, but Hermione had indeed launched herself at him and spent her breath opening up his lips to swirl her tongue in his mouth. Her knees landed ungracefully on either side of him as she straddled his lap, and Severus wrapped his arms about her back, securing her against him before he leaned back against their bed.

Hermione moaned, in the soft frustrated way she did when she was ready for more, and not receiving nearly enough. Severus devoured her voice with his questing tongue, scouring her soft mouth and tasting her. He could give her more, and satisfy her need. He was an impotent man, his masculinity removed from him by heavy warding and by the lamentable choices of his youth that brought him to this time and place, but he could satisfy the witch, of that he was certain.

Relaxing in the familiarity of their embrace, their kisses slowed and deepened as Hermione sighed against his mouth. "Thanks, I needed that," she remarked lazily slumping against him.

Arousal thickened his voice, turning it into a rich baritone. Severus murmured, "What do you need Hermione, tell me." He closed his eyes painfully tight in preparation for her articulated desire for the one thing he couldn't give her, not that she'd complained that he couldn't fuck her, but still, it had to be a great disappointment.

"Just you, Severus," she breathed. "Just you."

"How?" he asked even though it burned him to the core. His witch _needed_ him. She deserved to have him. As his penis filled and lengthened, his aching balls weighing heavily against his thigh, he only wanted to dutifully worship her and sheath himself into her willing body.

Hermione gave a strangled cry, and he knew she was thinking of another way of expressing her need without hurting him. Without saying the words that she needed him deep within her. He would never be enough; teeth and tongues, lips and hands could delight the senses and inflame lust, but without the union of bodies, the act felt incomplete.

Hermione sighed softly, her head coming to rest on his chest, her body slackened against him, but quiet and perfectly at peace as his breathing lulled her into a gentle rest. In her mind when they came together it was like a thrilling crash. With all the shuddering speeds and racing bodies that hit in explosive collisions. Severus was her passion, his voice and intuition able to turn her on, and reduce her to nothing but pure want. He could entice her with a careless word or a brush of his hand on her collarbone. Those simple touches were all she needed to lose whatever semblance of thought she possessed and make her seek the burning collision.

But it was new to them, this intimacy they shared, and she wanted to explore it hesitantly, and allow the newness to unfurl slowly so she could savor it. Savor him. Because Hermione rather thought Severus was a wizard who could be savored slowly. She expected he'd laugh at her silly girlish sentiment if she confessed a desire that he 'make-love' to her. Hermione couldn't utter the words. Aside from the fact that his fingertips whispering across her arms made her so turned on, Hermione couldn't vocalize 'Make love to me.' Inside her mind she could still hear the same austere professor that had sneered at her as though she were more repulsive than gummed-up bubotuber puss. That persona was well hidden now as Severus had dropped his facade to her long ago, but she shuddered to think of how callous he'd be if she expressed such a sentiment. She knew it was possible. He had no ability to fill her, but Hermione wasn't so naive to believe that shared intimacy began and ended with intercourse. They'd just have to get a little creative.

Hermione ran her fingers up the back of his neck, dragging lightly on his scalp and grinning as Severus shook. She angled his face, cradling his strong jaw between her palms, and forced him to meet her open and sincere eyes.

"Touch me. Please," she huskily articulated, hoping she was choosing the right words. "Make me feel you, Severus."

* * *

Hours later Severus smiled softly at his resting Vixen. She had stripped him to the bone. There had not been any theatrics. No grand production of moaning or thrashing, the likes of which he'd become accustomed from bar slags. But even minus all the exaggerated verbal and visual cues from sexual pantomime, he knew he had reached her. Hermione had felt him. And he had felt her as she laid him completely bare. Sated, Severus kissed her brow and snuggled in to sleep, except Hermione was still awake and the tune she was humming was a definite distraction.

"Hermione, what are you humming?"

"Humming?"

He lifted his head slightly to look down at the witch nuzzled into his side. She looked just perfect there, even though she was making her arm go dead. "Yes, you've been humming ever since you walked in."

"Oh? Oh!" She blushed slightly and tried to hide her embarrassment by turning into his ribs. "Yesterday we did another movie night, and the elves really liked the song, _'Be Our Guest,'_ and have taken to singing it in the Homestead. I think I've gotten it stuck in my head, too."

"Be Our Guest?"

"Yes, it's a sweet little tune, it goes like," her words died as he held up his hand to stop her.

"I think I've heard it enough already."

"That bad?" He didn't need to reply for her to get her answer. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.  
He was nearly asleep when Hermione woke him again, though mercifully the humming had stopped.

"Severus?"

"Hmmm?" Her fingertips lightly danced over the sparse hairs on his chest, tickling him before Severus clasped his hand over hers.

"Remember when you said you wouldn't leave Azkaban?"

He grunted noncommittally. Was it too much to ask that she'd leave him alone if he appeared uninterested? Well, to be honest, he didn't have to try too hard to appear uninterested. Satisfied, he felt boneless. Not a single joint or vertebra ached. He rather wished she'd keep her impertinent mouth shut until he was ready for it again. Apparently that was too much to hope.

"You said you wouldn't leave because you didn't want to burden me," Hermione paused, drawing breath and confidence. Then drew another deep breath.

Severus was almost convinced the conversation was over and he could finally get his well-deserved nap when she spoke again in a shaky and uncertain voice.

"You're not a burden. I… wouldn't mind you leaving Azkaban and coming home with me."

"Hermione," he warned.

"No, hear me out Severus. I think this could work. And the Marriage Law will probably be overturned within the year so we wouldn't be obliged to have children together. Not that I'd mind having kids with you. Someday. Maybe. But why not do it? You have all the evidence, I'm certain you'll be acquitted. Let's make this real."

He lifted his head to stare agog at his hag-haired witch curled up against his side. Was she barking mad? Severus winced as his head heavily hit the pillow and pinched the bridge of his nose. She'd never give him any peace. It was a witch's prerogative to have deep nonsensical conversations post coitus. Well, they hadn't shagged, but he was still quite shagged out, and she still wanted to talk. Manipulative witch.

If she thought she'd connive him to do her bidding while he was still floating on bliss, she was mistaken. Severus couldn't be so easily used. Not since his youth at least.

"Hermione, go to sleep. Get some rest."

"You do remember saying that, don't you?" she prodded.

Fuck. Muggle proselytizers knocking at his door were easier to shake off than his witch. "You misunderstood me. This discussion is over."

Severus confidently shut his eyes feeling satisfied with himself that the conversation was effectively over. The phrase always worked for his father who never apologized for anything, and was always deadly serious. When his father said the discussion was closed, it was closed.

"What?" Hermione was sitting up now, peering over him. He could feel it, her halo of hair cascading around him, her breasts coming to lie on his chest as she stared into his firmly shut eyelids. "Severus Snape, you look at me this instant."

Ruefully he cracked an eyelid. Her fingers punched into the soft flesh where his shoulder joined his chest, forcefully punctuating her words. "You said, and I quote, 'I wouldn't leave here. I wouldn't want to force you to have a husband you wouldn't want.' I fail to see how I could misinterpret that."

"Remove your hand from my person, witch. I do not hit you, and I expect the same kindness in return." At present he didn't feel like hitting her, rather he was really quite tempted to strangle her.

"Oh," she shifted, looking properly chastened. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. But this doesn't change our conversation. I still want to talk."

"Talk?" he spat, though lying down nude dulled the effect.

"Well, I want you to know that it's okay. Really. I'm not the reason to stay here. Actually, I'd like for you to leave."

"So noted. You've made that point, Vixen. I got it the first time."

"And?"

"And what?" Was she dense? Through his now wide-awake eyes, Severus could plainly see Hermione was looking at him as though he were thick.

"So what do you say to making a real go of it? We've already got the Homestead and Granger Industries. Why not take a chance on a real married life?"

"Again you are repeating yourself, Vixen. I think you made your point clearly once before."

"But you didn't answer me."

Severus sat up and leaned heavily against the headboard. Now his back hurt. He blamed the hag masquerading as a witch.

"No," he replied, crossing his bare arms across his chest.

"No, what?" she asked nonplussed. "No, you don't want to talk about it. No, you don't remember the conversation-"

"No, I am not leaving Azkaban," he cut through.

"But you said -"

"I remember what I said. You misunderstood me. Yes, your wish to not have the burden of a real husband had been a factor in my wish to stay here. Now you've made it quite clear that you are not adverse to our marriage and would like to pursue a relationship outside these walls. Noted. Thank you."

"But you won't..." she said dumbly.

"Of course not, if it were my wish to leave I would have done so unencumbered before I met you. Why is this such a difficult concept for you to grasp?"

"It makes no sense."

"And we've covered this before as well. I believe I sufficiently stated I had my personal reasons for staying."

"Your religion," Hermione repeated in a faraway voice. "Your so-called redemption."

Severus' religion was a strange thing to her, a puzzle with pieces that didn't fit, and Severus never explained himself. Well, that she could accept, it was personal, and he was a very private man. But for a wizard who confined himself to prison, paying penance to nameless Gods she expected to hear at least some mention of his faith in his book. And as many times as Hermione had peeked in on him through the jailer's slot, never once had she interrupted him while praying. Hermione understood that during times of great distress men either ran from their faith or cleaved to it, but from Severus she read nothing. Just his willful stubbornness not to leave his self-made imprisonment.

"Yes, my so-called redemption. Funny, how it doesn't seem to matter to you, wife."

"It does matter!" she interjected. "I just don't see how it's necessary, I don't understand why you feel the need for redemption."

"No, you don't value my choice. It is my choice, Hermione. There may not be many options left to me, but this is my choice."

"And I respect that."

"And yet you would impose your will on me?" he asked with an incredulous look. "Tell me, Vixen, do you intend to be my next Lord and Master? Are you more of a benign Dumbledore, or a wrathful Dark Lord?"

"Neither! I'm not imposing my will, I'm asking you. And a marriage is a partnership, our partnership. I'm not your Lord and Master. Why is this so difficult? I just asked you not to make me your reason to keep yourself here."

_'Marriage is a partnership?'_ Severus mockingly thought. Not for the first time he wondered where she got her little pearls of wisdom. They were trite and sometimes amusing, but this one rankled. Reheated cliché advice for the uninitiated. Their marriage wasn't anything like a partnership, and he doubted it would be even if he left Azkaban. They fought for dominance all the time; it was the true natural order of relationships, but then again Hermione lived in a beautiful world constructed primarily in her head. She was too naive sometimes, and he too jaded. But whereas her life had been charmed in many was, Severus had been owned. She could never fucking truly comprehend that, and so she still stupidly thought that marriage was a partnership. What a _nice_ thought - unrealistic, asinine, and insulting to his intelligence, but _nice_. Severus fully expected her to _win_; after all, she was playing the game with all the advantages.

His nose twitched and Hermione realized she was beginning to repeat herself again like a broken record, not that he'd get that particular reference. "Please, just consider it, Severus. We could be good together. I think we could make this marriage work."

He sighed deeply. Hermione embodied temptation. He'd never consider going back on his choice to lock himself away. But what she said sounded divine. A home. A new career. A fresh start with Hermione by his side. Pure temptation, unlike any he'd ever known before, and he could see it. He could picture it in his mind, just as she'd said. The thought taunted him.

He imagined frying eggs and making coffee in the morning while his witch warmed his bed. Relaxing together before tackling the day. He imagined being able to actually see the production line, meet Madam Gibson with whom he corresponded to compose his joint and cartilage potion. He could get so much more involved than just reviewing paperwork. And he wanted to. He wanted to help her run Granger Industries.

Hermione was his strength and his weakness. But every time he thought of saying 'Sod this for a game of soldiers' and leave Azkaban… join her in their proper marriage bed, he was reminded of his purpose. The purpose he felt himself straying from ever since she'd invited herself into his cell. The Vixen's temptation that pulled on him also made him want to dig his heels in harder. Hermione had no idea how much she affected him when she said she wanted him at the Homestead. It would be too easy to say yes. Too easy to abandon his cell. But he'd be abandoning his penance, his mission to atone for his wrongdoing, all the harm he'd done…

"Hermione, I would… I…" his throat closed up around his words and Severus nearly choked. "Please don't ask me to give up my penance. If I choose to, I'll let you know, but right now I can't."

"When might that be?" He'd have taken her to task for her impertinent questions except that her eyes appeared to be welling with some foreign fluid.

"I don't know. When I'm finished. I don't know when that will be either, and it may never happen. When I've atoned enough for the deeds I've done. When the Gods have forgiven me. I don't know when penance ends. How is anyone supposed to know when the Gods will show their mercy? I am a servant to their whims."

"But you'll consider it? You'll consider leaving and starting a real marriage with me?"

Her voice was laced with such want Severus found himself caving to her. She wanted him, of that he was certain, there no hint of deception in her eyes. For the first time in his life he had a witch who wanted him, a witch who wanted a future with him.

"Yes, Vixen, I'll consider it."

Hermione didn't want to push her wizard. She didn't want to turn him from her or to become his Dumbledore. She'd just have to deal with his choice. She'd have to give him the time he needed. The space he asked for. But he needn't look to his Gods for mercy if he waited too long, for Hermione knew her anger would be great if he made her another Azkaban widow. There was only so much self-loathing she'd put up with.

* * *

A/N  
Chapter title: Nihil Curo De Ista Tua Stulta Superstitione - I'm not interested in your dopey religious cult  
NRM reference for TQW  
Love to Christev20 for betaing. You do so much more than check my commas.  
Thanks loves, please consider leaving a review! AV


	43. Chapter 43

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 43 - Lex Talionis**

Hermione sat awaiting Ginny, her lunch guest. The advanced copy of Severus' _Ex Intempestivo Pax_ was spread out on the table at one of the trendy bistros that lined the regentrified Knockturn Alley. Hermione could have sworn the bistro once was listed as an illicit potions lab, but there were no nasty lingering smells of acrid potions. Actually, Hermione was suspicious enough to believe they were employing her Natural Scentsations product to enhance the mouthwatering fresh baked bread and garlic smells coming from the kitchen.

As the tips of her fingers lightly strummed the tome Hermione grounded her teeth. The book was a disaster. Well, in a manner of speaking it was. Hermione had only just gotten her hands on the edits Luna had made to his work, and only had to skim through a couple of chapters before realizing with cold dread that Severus would be furious. His work had been edited nearly beyond all recognition.

Oh, his voice came through; it was still very much his story, but enhanced. Severus the man read like an enigmatic dark and brooding character. Hermione would be the first to admit he was. But that wasn't quite the problem either. No, she couldn't exactly place what was wrong about it, only that it was. It was as if his person had been transformed into a persona. Romanticized. Even though there weren't any smut filled pages of heaving bodices, Hermione could easily picture him on the dust jacket sporting a sensual scowl, an oiled chest, and a kilt. Perhaps not a kilt, but a pirate ship wasn't out of the question.

Damn Luna. She had refashioned him into a more sympathetic character with whom average witches and wizards could identify. And it had all the makings of a bestseller. Damn, damn, damn. Severus would be apoplectic. And Hermione had been the one to suggest he get published. No, not suggest. Insist.

Yes, she had demanded that his story be heard, but now there was the very real possibility that people would hear it. And take note. Heaven help her, what if someone connected that he was forbidden from having conjugal visits? Hermione cringed again, knowing she'd spend her years hoping that nobody in the Ministry would cotton on to her scheme. She had taken a very large gamble and now couldn't afford to lose. Maybe though, it could go in her favor. It was more than wishful thinking, but perhaps the Ministry would come to the realization that she and her sexy, brooding kilted husband were not having proper marital relations and would amend his sentence so that they could get on with the loving. Hermione snorted loudly, bringing her hand quickly up to her face and glancing around the bistro in case anyone heard her. Nobody had so much as looked in her direction.

That would be divine. She'd be mortified to petition the Wizengamot on his behalf to allow for conjugal visits, but damn. Her mind left that thought and trailed into pleasant memories until the waiter came to refill her water glass. Hermione had been doing that a lot lately, allowing her thoughts to stray to nights spent in Azkaban. If only she had known then what she knew now, she'd have worked hard to get detention with her surly Potions Master. No, probably not. He was still a right nasty heartless git.

No. Not heartless. She knew that now. It had been a sharp blow, one that knocked the wind from her lungs and left her dazed, when Hermione had read the passages about the other witch. The other woman. Severus never once mentioned her name, or gave a true description of a witch he referred to as his angel, but he loved her. Oh dear gods, it felt like her heart had been betrayed. To read of his unrequited love for some winsome witch who had come before. And Hermione knew by the certainty that he wrote of his abiding love for her, that she had his heart still. It couldn't possibly be the belly dancer in Hogsmeade he once shacked up with? No. That seemed to be a casual relationship, or at least one he was willing to talk about. Hermione had never heard him speak of any other witch, and probably never would, given the reverent way he wrote about this ethereal beauty that haunted him still.

Ugh. She had no way to compete against a nameless, faceless witch. Hermione had never had beauty to recommend her. And Severus described the love of his life as academically gifted. High praise indeed from the demanding Professor. Hermione didn't even have her intelligence to set her apart. Was there any place in his heart left for her? When his flesh ignited hers, was he envisioning someone else? Dear god, was she a substitute? By the poetic prose Severus used to describe her, Hermione was a poor substitute for the witch who had claimed his heart for her own. She knew she wasn't being rational, but the references to this pedestal-raised witch were like threaded gossamer woven through the pages, and it made her sick with envy. Without even meeting the unnamed witch, Hermione despised her. And because it felt like he was hiding something amidst everything, it was more than a gut punch. The mystery witch was a link that somehow connected the two wars, but Hermione couldn't think of anyone who fit that description. And she didn't even have a name to go on, but she did have friends, and research.

It wasn't rational at all. Jealousy was not a rational emotion. Where her heart was concerned Hermione had never been a rational creature. Yes, she studied with aplomb and could easily take down any wizard that matched wits with her in the sciences or debate, but she was utterly unable to control herself when it came to the irrationality of her own desires. It was territory that she had not charted well and had led to more impulsive drama than her life needed. But then, if she had been able to be in control of the topsy-turvy emotions she felt when she knew she was in love, she'd probably have married Charlie. No, she would have never married the dragon-handler. He just couldn't handle her; he found fire breathing reptiles easier to manage. Hermione knew when her emotions ran high she felt out of control. When she felt out of control, she well... made a damned fool of herself. Hermione wasn't a witch accustomed to being out of control, and when it happened she reacted poorly.

Hermione chuffed at the thought. Poorly wasn't exactly the appropriate word to describe her fits of desperate irrationality. Badly? Violently?

Best not to lose control.

_Ever._

The only thing she knew was left to do was discover the identity of the mystery witch. Research was always a viable option. And research on her wizard was never time misspent. Perhaps, she thought, if she could discover what brought the two of them together, what endeared the witch to him, maybe then she would have a chance of gaining a small shred of the same worship he laved upon "her." Or at least pick her apart. No, that would be petty, but Hermione had been known to be petty in love before. Regardless, research was warranted. Research was always good. Yes, she would dig deeper this time.

At least she had an idea of where to start. No more fumbling around for records at the Ministry. Her fingers drummed over the cover of Severus' book, and her lips curled into a coquette smile. He had provided her with everything she needed to know what rocks to turn over. And she'd start with the one person who had avoided her most of all. Harry.

Severus had only devoted four short sentences to what he believed were to be his final moments in battle, but it was all news to Hermione. Oh, she remembered watching the man, pale and spurting blood everywhere on the dust-covered floor, silvering streams of memories escaping him. She had even Conjured the flask that captured his memories. That wasn't the sort of image one could get rid of, but she hadn't seen the Pensieve. Only Harry had. And he never mentioned the contents to her, not that she had bothered him about it, because at the time an evil menacing despot had been shouting deadlines on the battlefield, and corpses of her friends were going cold. Professor Snape's memories really hadn't been a priority. Somehow the entire incident had slipped her mind. It was insignificant against the backdrop of carnage and adrenalin that permeated her recollection of the battle.

But in his thick book Severus had clearly, plainly, and without obfuscation written that he had left what he thought were dying memories for Harry to assist with Lord Voldemort's downfall. And if she read between the lines, as Hermione was prone to do, she could plainly see there was not only information contained in those memories that would ultimately prove he'd been loyal to the Order, but also memories he didn't want to share. His description of the act was mechanical and devoid of his typical well thought out descriptions. Clearly he was hiding information.

She suspected that whatever Harry knew was not insignificant.

Ginny sailed in through the restaurant just then, late as always, but sporting one of the megawatt smiles she'd been wearing ever since Hermione had set her up with Billy.

The girls both ordered and got on with the serious business of their lunch date.

"Right Gin, spill it," Hermione ordered with a stab to her creamy penne. Ginny was positively bursting with raw happy energy.

"I love him," she sighed dramatically. "He's dreamy."

"Dreamy?" Hermione deadpanned, unconvinced. Billy Mulciber was decidedly not dreamy, but she doubted she could convince the witch with the faraway look and bright smile otherwise.

"He's perfect, Hermione. He's so thoughtful and talented. Did I tell you he fixed the radiator in my apartment? It no longer wails like a banshee on a bender."

"So he's been to your apartment, then," Hermione taunted with a sly smirk. She had been taking smirking lessons from her husband and had become quite proficient in their judicious application.

Ginny's eyes went wide for a moment before they dropped guiltily to her untouched salad. "He stayed over last night," she mumbled low enough that her voice didn't carry.

Hermione nodded to herself; that explained her glowing complexion. A right good fuck did wonders for a witch. She spared Gin the wistful sigh that threatened to come from her own lips.

"Fabulous. Was it good?"

Ginny looked up from under her curled strawberry lashes and without saying a word, Hermione knew it had been very good indeed. "So," Hermione began carefully, "do you think he might be the 'one?'"

"Look!" Ginny squealed tapping her wand on her right hand ring finger. There was a brief liquid shimmer before a gaudy, over-sized, emerald-cut diamond appeared, stretching between her first and second knuckles. Hermione was willing to bet she was seeing the best of the Mulciber family heirlooms.

"Oh Ginny, I'm so happy for you." And she was.

Hermione was very happy for her friend. Just a bit envious as well. Was this what it was like to find your soul mate? To fall madly in love? To be able to make love to the wizard you longed for? She knew Ginny's joy would always be out of her reach.

She could never have this with Severus, and her eyes threatened to leak at the table. Hermione unobtrusively turned and blinked rapidly until she got her errant emotions and eyes under control.

Severus was her tragic pipe dream. He was everything she wanted when she started this farce of a marriage. Unable to have children. Unable to have sex. Convenient and available twenty four hours a day, as needed and on her schedule only. And now she realized she wanted none of it. She wanted her husband. Wanted him the same way Ginny desired and had Billy.

When she realized he didn't have the 'happily ever after' he deserved, that he deserved to have his freedom, it sounded so selfless. But it was foolish to suggest she was only thinking about him and denying her own desires. That Hermione was willing to give up her tidy life and welcome her husband and whatever children came from their union because she was charitable that way. Now she realized, like a hard stone in her belly, it was _her_ 'happily ever after' she was thinking of. And there wasn't anything selfless about it at all.

What about her?

Could she really live for decades visiting her husband? Looking, but not touching? Touching, but not being intimate the way a husband and wife were meant to be? Making half a life on reheated take-away? What a fool she had been to think... No, she hadn't thought. What on earth had ever convinced her that she could manage a life in two locations? Neither one of them being real lives. Hermione realized acutely that half of her waking hours were spent grinding away her spirit and energy into a company that was both her proudest achievement and heaviest burden to bear. Her other life, the nighttime sky that didn't understand daylight, was home for her soul. Severus' presence was more than his embrace, greater than his devotion to her. His presence was balm for her weary mind and fractured body.

How had she been so stupid to allow this to happen? Living divided desperate lives. Half lives. Hermione couldn't bear a lifetime of it. Could she trudge to Azkaban to visit her home when her hair was shot with silver and her joints aching? Severus could condemn himself. She could not. They'd been married in a small antechamber with flickering lights on fish night. Her mother had dreamily said one summer many years ago that couples got married in front of altars because marriage was a sacrifice. Both husband and wife give up a part of themselves to create something greater, a partnership. At the wedding there had been no altar to sacrifice herself upon, but surely a lifetime of this was a commitment she couldn't bear.

It must have been the drugs. Perhaps Severus was right and Liquid Sunshine was much more potent than she thought, because she must have been barking to think she could do this.

Hermione glanced back at Ginny's gaudy ring. It wasn't the sort of ring that Ginny would have ever chosen for herself. The girl preferred the understated and elegant, but the heirloom came from the wizard she loved and she wore it proudly. What would she give for a little bit of that in her life? For Severus' freedom? What if she couldn't have it? Her 'happily ever after?'

Holy father, if she was bound to serve a sentence in Azkaban parceled out as a mandatory two hours a week with her beloved for the rest of her life, she'd go mad.

Ginny quickly re-Glamoured the ring to hide it and her eyes surreptitiously slid around the room to see if she had garnered the notice of any of the other patrons. She needn't have bothered. The bistro was filled with self-absorbed witches and wizards too involved with their own lives and only out to be 'seen' anyway.

"Oh Hermione, he's… he's…"

"Perfect?" Hermione supplied, and Ginny vigorously nodded in the affirmative. Ever since she had started seeing Billy her vocabulary had been limited to a handful of adjectives.

Ginny's smile faltered only briefly, but Hermione knew it spelled trouble. "And?" she probed. There shouldn't have been any trouble in paradise the day of her engagement.

Ginny sighed dramatically again. "I haven't told my family."

"About the engagement?" Hermione asked, already feeling a cold knot in her stomach.

She shook her head and looked honestly scared. Hermione would have been scared too. Molly didn't like surprises concerning her only daughter, and to say the mother hen was a wee bit overprotective was an understatement. That, and there was also the roving pack of feral brothers to consider.

"About anything." She lifted a sliced radish up off her plate and pushed it to the side. "How do I tell them? Every member of my family belongs to the Order. Did you hear the entire Mulciber clan was sentenced for being loyal Death Eaters? They'll flip."

"They weren't all Death Eaters," Hermione corrected.

"That's true, Billy never did take the Mark, but I doubt that'll satisfy Mum."

"No," Hermione said slowly. "What has he told you of his family?"

"Not much, only that he takes care of them in Azkaban. What do you know that I don't?"

Hermione put her fork down with a clatter. "I just don't think small children qualify as loyal Death Eaters."

Ginny's eyes became frightfully wide as she processed Hermione's meaning. "Oh! Oh. Oh my. I never thought… I never thought the Ministry could do that. Would do that. Did you say children? Well, maybe that explains why Billy wants as many kids as I do."

"That'll help soften the blow to Molly," Hermione said helpfully, but she knew Ginny was no longer with her in the conversation. She was studying a spot behind Hermione's shoulder with intense concentration.

"Why doesn't anyone know about this… I don't even know what to call it. Travesty? Horror? Injustice?"

"I suppose 'dirty little secret' would be appropriate. You know the Ministry controls the media. And I don't think anyone really gives two shits about what happens to people once the Ministry labels them as 'Dark.' Of course I take issue with how the Ministry applies labels, but that's another conversation. Ginny?" Her friend was frowning at the painting behind Hermione's head. She knew it was an atrocious still life, but that was neither here nor there.

"What are you thinking, Ginny?"

"I want…" she said slowly and carefully still not making eye contact, "I want to bring honor to the Mulciber name. I want our children to be proud of being Mulcibers. I want my family to be happy for me and Billy. And I want the Ministry to bend over and spread it's cheeks 'cause I'm about to hit them hard."

There was a half crazed steely glint in Ginevra Weasley's eyes that Hermione recognized only too well. Inwardly she sighed in relief. She knew what she had seen with her own eyes was very wrong, and had felt indescribable guilt over not having the time to champion the cause, but Ginny had taken up the flag. And the witch would run with it.

Run, Ginny, run.

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter title: Lex Talionis - The Law of Revenge - (Ginny is gonna skin someone alive!)

Three Cheers for fantabulous beta Christev20 - Hip-Hip Huzzah! And an Apparition License thrown in too.

Thanks for reading kittens! Please leave a review. Thanks, AV


	44. Chapter 44

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 44 - Proprium Humani Ingenii Est Odisse Quem Laeseris**

The stunner swished by her head, missing its mark. He couldn't do it; his wand failed him. He couldn't contemplate what that meant, that hesitation, but Severus could not bring himself to turn his wand on her. A half second, only long enough to draw a sharp breath and Hermione's wand was now leveled at his chest. By the dangerous glint in her eye he knew engaging her would cost him dearly, and in more than just life's blood. Hermione was no match for his wand, but the softly screaming fuzz in the back of his brain that urged him to make haste up to the tower was getting louder, and he had not a second to spare.

"Put down your wand Miss Granger, there is no time for this."

Her eyes flicked briefly to Lovegood's prone form on the floor.

"Oh, I think there is."

He had not a second to hesitate; he knew this in the firmament of his bones. "Get out of my way. Can't you see I'm trying to protect you by removing you from this fight? The Order needs you, Miss Granger. Let me pass."

Her wand did not lower, but it drooped slightly in consideration and Severus did not pause any longer. As his heavy robes brushed past her, Severus was confident she'd not hex his shoulder blades.

The dungeons seemed damper than usual, the stairs more numerous than possible, just as in his nightmares when he could not climb up from their depths. Wicked dreams where each footfall made him slip back and his feet could not find purchase as Hogwarts' living foundations colluded to delay him. Circling staircases that stretched endlessly skyward conspired against him as his long legs moved swiftly on impulse. Driven without conscious thought as the cacophony of sound in his brain became deafening. His wand felt leaden in his hand.

Reaching the tower door he threw it open, and arrived in the brisk swirling night air to meet empty beseeching blue eyes for a fraction of a second. A heart beat. An eternity of silence as they dropped from sight. Severus followed him to the ground, his knuckles white and digging into the unyielding stone as Albus dropped. His pale lavender robes swimming with unnatural grace around him like a rippling wave cocooning his body. Shrouded in lavender, he was beautiful, his arms outstretched to release the remaining spirit from within. But the same heartbeat that thundered in Albus' aerial exit contained a sickening thud audible even at the highest tower.

Severus owned no knees, no legs as he sank into the cold granite wall. Only the pale blond boy's hollow footsteps pounding behind him registered dully, even as the migraine tore viciously through his skull. As pinpricks of painful stars exploded in his vision, Severus squeezed his eyes shut, blotting lavender robes from his vision, grinding his knuckles into their sockets. Dizzy, panting, and nauseous, Severus succumbed to darkness.

Drugged and drowsy, the world was swirling in sick pastel. Sweet like the spun sugar purchased by his mother in his long faded early memories. His body was buoyant and bobbed painlessly riding unseen waves.

A mental image of himself as a young boy floated to the surface of consciousness. In short pants, he gripped her hand as he tottered along, happy to soak up the sun and stand alongside her radiance. He gripped a bright red balloon tightly, unwilling to risk letting any belonging go.

'The balloon,' Severus mused, 'I feel like the string on that balloon. Pulled taut and tethered.' Drowsy once again he closed his mind's eye…

And felt the world spin once again. His head hanging off an edge as his body spun, sending blood pounding through his temples as bile rose in the back of his mouth.

"Severus?"

Her voice was clear and real. Of that he was certain.

Severus lifted his head from where it hung off the edge of the bed. And tried with limited success to shake the spiderwebs from his vision.

As she frowned at him the lines between her eyebrows drew together. Severus decided he didn't like it. She should never have cause to ever frown like that. If he had it in his power he'd ensure it.

"Sometimes I have nightmares," he said hoarsely rubbing at the pulled and tender jagged pink scar on his neck. "Sometimes I hallucinate. And sometimes I can't tell the difference." He sat up slowly and made room for her next to him on the sweat soaked bed. Where she belonged.

"What did you dream?"

He looked at her incredulously for a moment, astounded that her curiosity knew no bounds. Was nothing sacred with the witch? No, experience had taught him she had the misguided belief that she should concern herself with his life. Their relationship hadn't started out that way, but they weren't just married. They were… involved.

"I dreamt I couldn't Stupefy you," he began uneasily. "The night I killed Albus. Only this time, the hesitation meant Draco did it."

"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh, well. That would have changed things considerably."

"I'm not sure how. I'd still be in Azkaban for murder. You can't supply the Dark Lord with life-saving potions for years and not have blood on your hands."

"But you never Stupefied me, Severus. You know that. You didn't even point your wand at me. You just sent me to look after Professor Flitwick."

He flopped back heavily into the headboard; his shoulders could not bear the load of a sleep without rest. "In my dream... in my hallucination... I had you at the end of my wand."

He never held his wand on someone he wasn't prepared to hex. He didn't believe wizards should lift them unless they were going to use them. He had once lifted his wand at the Potter boy, at the time it had been purely on instinct and self defense. But he hadn't hexed a student. Not once. That was an accomplishment of the highest order, given how much they had pushed him to the very limit of his sanity at times. Yet Severus could not hex a child entrusted to his care. He had no quibbles dropping Filius with a simple Stunner and sending the witches to tend to them, but no, he doubted very much he could have Stunned them as well, unless it was an absolute necessity.

She frowned as if tasting something foul on her lips before speaking, "It was just a dream, Severus. I know you could never hurt me."

Hermione sadly turned her eyes on him and he hated to read the pity there. 'Empathy,' she called it. Sounded a lot like pity to him.

No, he could not hurt the witch. They both recognized that he'd never turn violent towards her. He was his father's son, but Severus was his own man. Clearly, he understood that his dream conveyed that message. But his dream hadn't been about hexing her. The Hermione of his vision impeded him from accomplishing his goals. His hesitation would have changed history irreversibly. And it was possible Hermione was a stumbling block to his current goals. His eyes cautiously shifted around his cell. This was not the life of a penitent man. He was rich off her food, warm in his bed, and wanted for nothing, but at what cost to his soul? Again Severus asked himself, was she a symbol of his salvation or a test of his faith?

"I have this for you," she said in a false cheerful voice, mercifully changing the topic and proffering a paper-wrapped book by the shape of it.

Severus arched an eyebrow and dutifully unwrapped the parcel to slowly unveil his published memoirs. His fingers caressed the black dust jacket, tracing lightly over his own name. This was not a good day for her to come and interrupt his solitude. 'Albus-days' were fewer and far between, but when he was feeling uncomfortable, cowardly and fragile, well, those weren't the days to entertain guests. And now, seeing his work in print, tangible and heavy in his palm, well, it was the sort of experience that could make a wizard choke on all the dust in the room.

"This..." he stuttered as he threaded his fingers through layers of fine parchment, "is nice."

"Nice?"

Severus held up the thick tome and gently sniffed the printed parchment hoping he didn't look too much like the idiot he suspected that he did. Muggle paperbacks had nothing on wizarding parchment, and it had been so very long. Hermione favored cheaper parchment-shaded Muggle knock-offs for her own work, but it couldn't hold a candle to the real deal. His book was printed on expensive parchment. His life story was valuable enough to put to parchment, not cheap paper. Were he alive, he would have loved to shove the book down his father's throat with a mighty, 'See! I did make something of myself.'

Except he was in Azkaban. And had not made something of himself. Unless 'notorious murdering Death Eater' qualified. His father had been right. He was destined to be a disappointment. Hermione was still smiling brightly. When she looked at him like that, her eyes filled with warmth and not a trace of dishonesty, it made him wonder if she had over-medicated herself. But. There was also the smallest possibility that she thought as well of him as she was prone to say.

"It's more than nice," he tried again. "It's overwhelming."

Her smile lit up her face and Hermione was beautiful, and smiling just for him. His heart clutched just a tiny bit. Not enough that he'd ever admit it except under duress, but she was perfect. And her smile could chase away even the worst of 'Albus-days.'

"Luna is going to do limited release of the special editions to generate interest, and then a mass distribution to keep sales up."

"Mass distribution?" he frowned.

That wasn't in the agreement. No, this was for scholars only. Scholars were not the unwashed masses that received mass distributions. That was tacky and so very plebeian. Severus tightened his hold on his book.

Hermione rolled her eyes and 'tsk'd' as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Well of course, she has a lot of money tied up in this project. And as nice as those leather bound parchment versions are, they're cost prohibitive. I mean, nobody would purchase them if she didn't defray the cost somewhat. But by offering a 'collector's edition' at a reasonable price she can generate early buzz on the paperback. And that's where the real money is."

Severus stared at her, stunned and horrified. Blinking rapidly as his brain whirled and tried to come to grasps with the utter gobshite she had just spun.

"Severus, you can't have a bestseller with a book that nobody can afford to read."

"_Practical Poisonous Potions Prepared by Proficient Potioneers_ is a bestseller and it's a damned sight more expensive than this!" Severus defended. He didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted by her words or his own. It was damned confusing and he didn't like the feeling of having the ground ripped out from beneath his feet one bit.

Hermione must have been approaching her menses because her eyes were threatening to do that 'leaky thing,' that witches occasionally did. There was something to be said for the Greeks' theory of a wandering uterus causing hysteria, but he knew much better than to mention anything. Commenting upon a witch's menstruation was an excellent way of getting hexed.

"Fuck," he swore. Just when he thought he could win an argument she pulled out her ace. The moment her eyes started leaking, he was trapped. "And I suppose it's already gone into print," he said dully, knowing he had already lost.

Hermione nodded affirmative.

"You don't suppose I could buy Miss Lovegood out?"

Hermione shook her head negative. "It's Madam Creevey now," she added unhelpfully.

"Oh Gods, why have you turned on me so," Severus begged to the silent and unforgiving deities.

A Creevey and Lovegood union could only bode disaster for the wizarding world. His only salvation was he no longer had the misfortune of shoving knowledge in their sugar-rotted heads. The small benefit of wasting in Azkaban was he'd be spared the agony of teaching the fruit of their soiled loins. Now he wished he had Stupified Miss Lovegood years ago, instead of sending her after Professor Flitwick; that at least would provide a modicum of satisfaction.

"So there's nothing I can do?"

Hermione shrugged and watched as Severus' head dropped in his waiting hands. He was so melodramatic sometimes that she could only stare and wonder why he blew things out of proportion. They could manage this; it wasn't likely to pose any serious problems.

* * *

The morning Severus' memoir was set to be released Hermione thumbed through her well worn early copy, where she had highlighted inconsistencies and passages that had stuck out as odd. She was already well aware of the uproar it would cause, and thanked her stars that the Ministry hadn't heard of it in advance. Luna had made certain to keep it under wraps - all documentation about the book included the working title of _'Nocturnal Ring-tailed Blibbering Humdingers of Southeast Asia._' A literary masterpiece, to be certain. Had it been made public knowledge that famed Death Eater and Azkaban prisoner Severus Snape had written a first hand behind-the-scenes account of both Voldemort wars _and_ had named names, Hermione was sure the Ministry would have swooped down upon them like a Crumple-Horned Snorkack after an Aquavirius Maggot.

Severus' book answered a lot of her questions. She'd had no idea that the Patronus the boys spotted in the forest belonged to him, and well, that explained quite a lot. And the fact that he could cast a Patronus at all, that… She didn't know what to make of that because try as she might she couldn't think of a single 'baddie' who had a Patronus. And surely that spoke volumes. But as far as it went to proving his innocence, it raised more questions. One question actually. Why? Why, if as many people knew of his innocence as she suspected, why was he still in prison? Ffoulkes would only humor her so far, and frankly, his cryptic answers that skirted just the hair's edge of violating client privilege were nice, but were not going to cut it. Hermione had a good idea where she could find her answers. From the one person who had been avoiding her.

Harry.

A half naked Ollie answered the door covering his eyes from the rising sun and shaking a tanned hand through his bleached blond hair. "Wondered when you'd finally show up," he greeted, opening the door wide for her.

"Is he up yet?" Hermione asked, realizing now that when she'd placed 'Chat with Harry' on her daily To Do list, she had forgotten to take into account his penchant for sleeping late every chance he could.

Ollie briefly fluttered his eyelashes and looked upstairs before muttering, "Give me a minute, I'll rouse him."

Hermione placed herself uneasily on Harry's very Muggle sectional sofa. She hated how her butt slid into it, and felt like an insect inside the jowls of a Venus Flytrap the way it wrapped around her, but it was clean. Or appeared to be. The recliner in front of the large flat screen telly had remnants of greasy popcorn and crisps in it.

Twenty minutes later Hermione was teetering on the edge of letting herself out or going upstairs and rousing him herself.

While she was alone, her eyes taking in his bachelor pad crate furniture that tried too hard to scream, 'I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived, I'm just an average wizard,' Hermione reviewed her game plan.

There were a few approaches that worked with Harry and several that did not. For instance, if he got a whiff that someone was being cagey or not entirely truthful with him, he flew into a rage. It was probably a lingering aftertaste from what Professor Dumbledore had done to him. If he sensed any Dursley-styled accusations, especially if anyone poked a finger in his direction, Harry turned horribly petulant, and it would be days before he could be coaxed out of his snit. Sharp -tongued reprimands generated either shamefaced responses, if he felt particularly guilty, or childish resentment.

Really it was a mixed bag, so Hermione kept her fingers crossed and hoped for the best. She chose the straightforward Gryffindor approach, but was not interested in coddling him. After all, Hermione already _knew_ he'd been hiding from her and was kinda looking forward to a bit of humble-pie from him.

Harry loudly trudged down the stairs, each step dramatically loud, and Hermione rolled her eyes. He was in one of _those_ kinds of moods. Served him right for avoiding her. But then, that was the sad reality of most of her schoolmates. After Hogwarts everyone went their separate ways and occasionally caught up when passing in the streets, but otherwise had moved on.

She supposed it was the way all schoolmates the world over got on, but somehow she had always thought they'd remain as close as they'd always been… when it seemed like the three of them against the world… or at least against a deranged reptilian maniac and his army of Unforgivable-casting sickos.

"Hey, Hermione," he acknowledged her with a flip of his head, "You want something to eat? I'm starved." He strode right past her and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

"You stop right there, Harry Potter," Hermione shrilly commanded rising from the claw-like sofa cushions. Harry winced and stopped mid-step, his foot hanging in air as he looked over his shoulder to gape at her.

He might have been a petulant ill-tempered boy, but Harry knew better than to piss off Hermione, and she was quite ready to remind him of that fact. He grumbled, muttering something about not missing meals, before sagging his shoulders and traipsing back towards the couch where he sat in a most ungainly manner.

One would have thought years of adulthood and being the youngest Chief Inspector Auror in wizarding history would have matured him, but such was not the case. Well, Auror Potter was well decorated and highly respected, and Boy-Who-Lived-Potter was a national hero, but Harry was still very much a teenager. Hermione idly recalled her Mum's advice that men weren't worth a damn until they reached at least thirty. Hermione coldly agreed.

He crossed his arms across his chest and looked up at her from behind the messy bangs that fell into his eyes. All he needed to do was stick-out his lower lip and the impression of a juvenile would be complete. Hermione reassessed her game plan. If he was going to act like a child, she would have to treat him like one.

"Thank you for seeing me," Hermione primly began, and she resisted the urge to pull her carefully constructed notes out from her satchel. "I understand your time is limited and you don't have the ability to see people very often."

Harry snorted and muttered, "that's rich coming from you," under his breath. He spoke it just loud enough that Hermione could hear it, but she wasn't going to rise to the bait.

"As, I was saying, thank you for seeing me. I have just a few questions if you don't mind. I now know for instance, that the Patronus in the Forest of Dean belonged to Severus Snape. I also now know that the memories he provided you at the Final Battle aided our war effort and exonerated him as Dumbledore's man," she rested her hand on top of her leather satchel where her copy of Severus' book was ready at her fingertips. "What I don't know, or rather what I don't understand, is why you concealed this information from me."

Harry gaped at her for a long moment before his jaw shut, his lips thinning into a disapproving line. "How was I supposed to know you'd run off and marry the git? I had no idea you fancied shagging ole Snapey! That's what you do in Azkaban, isn't it? Fuck Snape. That's disgusting, Hermione. It was disgusting just sitting at that conference table while you smelled of him. I wasn't even sitting near you, and you reeked of sex. Every wizard at the table was gagging 'cause we knew you were doing nasty-"

"That is enough! Harry James Potter, I have reached my limit with you." She wasn't going to justify her new intimacy with her husband to the likes of Harry. It was none of his damn business. "Why didn't you tell me he was working for the Order? Everyone still believes he's a traitor!"

"If you had asked me I might have warned you, but _No,_ I had to hear you married him days after you'd run off and done the deed! You slunk off to that prison without saying a word to anyone about your plans."

"Don't change the subject Harry," Hermione chided, her irritation clearly evident in her voice. "I wasn't exactly in a position to send out wedding invitations."

"Of course, that would mean you'd have to think about your friends. It's only convenient to care about us when you want something like information, or favors for your little Muggle lawsuits, but you're far too busy to be bothered to ask how we're doing or send an invitation to dinner. What's happened to you, Hermione?"

She closed her eyes and tried to stop grinding her teeth. It caused tension headaches and was unhealthy for the enamel, gums, and nerves, and solved absolutely nothing when it came to Harry. She stayed silent until Harry realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with her. It was a great technique that she'd picked up from Severus. People universally hated awkward silence. It made them feel uncomfortable, and in general most people had the natural urge to fill large silent gaps with chatter. If she could just wait him out…

"I'd have told you about it if you'd have asked me, Hermione. I could have warned you about him. Not that I thought I'd have to warn you about Snape. I thought you would be intelligent enough to know to avoid him. I certainly never expected you to run off and marry him."

Harry paused and studied her, waiting to see if she'd respond, but since he was starting to talk up a streak Hermione composed her face neutrally and waited. Auror Potter would have recognized the technique immediately, but Harry was always able to compartmentalize so completely that it was often like speaking to different people. This ability of his to compartmentalize had probably kept him sane throughout most of his early childhood and frightful adolescence, but in many ways Hermione suspected it kept him from growing and maturing. So she remained silent. He still had not answered her questions to her satisfaction.

"I would have told you about the memories if I thought it mattered, but at the time I was kinda distracted. You know, Voldemort? He killed me. I killed him. There was a battle… Right. Are you going to stare at me all morning, because if you are I'm going to get up and make some eggs." Harry hefted himself up out of the pillowy cushions.

"I'm not finished with you. Sit," Hermione commanded. Harry obediently sat. She congratulated herself; she was getting quite good at this. "You haven't answered my question satisfactorily. I'm well aware there was a battle - I was there too, remember? But that doesn't explain why you didn't work to exonerate him after the battlefield was cleared. He's sat in Azkaban for years."

"Oh. Well, um…" Harry scratched at his head ruffling the mop he called hair. "I turned in the Pensieve to Mr. Ffoulkes. He's got it and a bunch of other exonerating evidence. And the Order members on the Wizengamot set up the charges so it would be real easy for him to get out if he wanted to, but…" Harry shrugged as if that answered everything. "I offered to testify for him. He didn't want me to."

"And you didn't think it was worth mentioning to me?"

Harry shrugged again. "I didn't think it was relevant. I had Auror Academy to get through, and I had just hooked up with Ollie, and well… it kinda slipped my mind"

"For five years? You let him rot in prison!"

"Hey!" Harry shouted defensively, "I offered, and the greasy git said he'd rather rot than owe another Potter anything."

Hermione grimaced. That sounded a lot like Severus. She sighed wearily, she wasn't getting anywhere with Harry. "I just don't understand how we could allow another Order member to sit in Azkaban, whether he wanted to or not. It's not right and it's not the values we believe in. If you or Ron were falsely accused I know I'd work day and night to set you free, but somehow that's okay for Severus," she lectured, feeling the urge to start one of her patented Prefect sermons.

"That git was perving after my Mum!" Harry railed. "I could care less if he turned to dry bones there."

His Mum? His Mum.

The realization hit Hermione painfully in the chest. His Mum. The doe. Of course.

Harry had just warmed up to his tirade and was going on and on. Hermione listened to him with only half of an ear.

"It doesn't matter that he was an Order member. It's not like Snape joined the Order because he believed in our values. He's not a principled wizard, Hermione! He only joined 'cause he still had a thing for my Mum. Do you have any idea how disgusting that is? He's a Death Eater through and through. He never subscribed to the Light; he never gave a damn about Dumbledore. Snape's just some dirty old pervert…"

Hermione tuned him out completely as the tightly turned spring in her mind uncoiled, the shapes and puzzle pieces rearranging and morphing into a new vision of reality. In a detached manner she looked at the elements there and saw patterns where there had only been chaos. The key to the map, the missing bit of information that revealed everything… the final misshapen pieces lined up together and she could see how things fit together where there wasn't any connective tissue before. And even though her new understanding was fresh, and she hadn't an honest moment to dwell on the picture it made, Hermione felt a crash.

Lily Potter was untouchable. Hermione could never compete against the witch. Even if she could ignore the sad longing with which Severus wrote about his unrequited love for his ethereal beauty, Hermione had hoped she still had a chance of securing whatever part of his heart the other witch had left untouched. Knowing the mysterious witch was Lily Potter was worse.

The war had lifted her up. She had been canonized in the psyche of every British-born witch and wizard as one of the original heroines of the Light. The Madonna and Child. Lily Potter's memory was larger than she had possibly been in real life. Hermione never stood a chance. Severus would always love her more.

She had only a vague impression of leaving Harry's house that morning.

* * *

A/N:

Chapter title: Proprium Humani Ingenii Est Odisse Quem Laeseris - It is human nature to hate a person whom you have injured

Thanks again to Christev20 for her amazing beta skills. They're like buttah.

And thanks to everyone who has dutifully read and reviewed. You keep me happy and my Muse a kickin.' So lovely, _thank you_. AV


	45. Chapter 45

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 45 - Vacca Foeda**

Warden Blotts threw down his quill in angered frustration as yet again the fireplace behind him crackled green sparks. It was warded against unwanted intruders, a necessary precaution under the best of circumstances, and now he'd taken to warding it personally so that even the direct Floo connection to the Minister's office was cut off. He was mightily miffed at having to sever his personal line to the Minister, as he fancied being at the Minister's fingertips. Not that Minister Shacklebolt ever called, but that wasn't really the point. Very few Ministry officials had a direct connection to the Minister, but after knowledge of the connection spread throughout Ministry environs, enterprising witches had been attempting to use his Floo for their own nefarious plans.

Warden Blotts was a patient man. A virtuous man of upstanding morals and high expectations. His naturally holier-than-thou disposition allowed him to practice his much loved disapproving looks to his heart's content. But his generous and charitable nature was being stretched beyond reasonable boundaries for Prisoner 11652. He had humored the war heroine's request to marry the prisoner because she was well known and held sway among many other well known persons. That sort of good will always carried favor around budget time. And the witch had proven herself only a mild inconvenience, which was fine, but she had repaid his kindness with treachery.

Three days after Prisoner 11652's book hit the shelves, Warden Blotts had become inundated with too many items requiring his attention, and in the ensuing days it had only spiraled out of control from there. His orderly and properly scheduled calendar had been thrown on its ear.

Mornings, he arrived at different times so as to keep his men always on their toes. It was a security precaution, and they never knew if he would arrive by 8 or 11. That kept them sharp.

After allowing time for a proper cup of tea, Warden Blotts turned his formidable mind to the task of prison administration. The guard reports were dutifully read, and he was always pleased the majority of his inmates were _Kissed_. It kept the ruckus down to a minimum.

Then he notated supply requests from the kitchens and checked for discrepancies and areas to cut costs. Anytime he could find a better deal, he was pleased. By purchasing from the lowest bidder he could prove his worth as a valuable Ministry overseer. And he swore he'd never be outdone by Control of Magical Creatures again!

The Ministry highly approved of its management finding creative and enterprising ways to eliminate wasteful government spending, and rewarded innovative managers accordingly. Warden Blotts advocated the liberal usage of Dementor's Kisses as a useful tool for prison administration, as Kissed prisoners were model prisoners, and the nutrient bags that sustained them were much more cost effective than maintaining the kitchens.

Some time after lunch or thereabouts, the Warden had the necessary time allotted to keep up with important current events by reading Ministry leaflets and The Daily Prophet. And when it was necessary to keep abreast of global issues he read travel brochures.

Occasionally the odd visitor request or media interview request passed his desk. If the reporter was reputable and known to publish articles favorable to the good nature of the Ministry, Warden Blotts was inclined to grant them a token measure of his esteem and allow an interview. And since reporters were only ever interested in interviewing him, he was able to make arrangements with his demanding schedule to accommodate. He preferred luncheon interviews in Diagon Alley, and furnished reporters with a listing of restaurants where he enjoyed dining.

Visitor requests were of an equal rarity. If the requester was someone, say like Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio and highly successful businesswoman, it was prudent to allow the interruption. If it were a family member, particularly of a _Kissed_ inmate; he declined them. Nobody ought to see something like that. It was unnatural and unhealthy. It agitated the mind. Nothing good could come from such visits. Witches and wizards not highly trained in the correctional career field found those prisoners disturbing and turned their anger upon the Ministry.

Where was the benefit in that?

It was the criminals who deserved their anger. Had they been more morally upstanding individuals, they would not have received their just punishment.

So he was understandably quite cheesed off to saunter into work and find a gaggle of witches clustered around his bloody Apparition entryway. They couldn't come much farther, but the disturbance was a nuisance. His well oiled machine of Ministry justice was further derided when he found his spotless and polished desk littered with stacks of media and visitor requests and the queerest requests from a Mr. Percival Weasley, some petty Deputy Undersecretary in Regulation and Control.

For whatever inane reason, the Ministry section was looking into the welfare of Kissed inmates, and was questioning his recommendations to use Dementors' Kisses as behavior modification tools. As far as Warden Blotts was concerned, it was a minor procedural matter of little consequence, but Mr. Weasley had sent him a near constant barrage of records requests. Every day brought longer lists of aggravating questions asking for the most detailed of information. It was damned infuriating, and the Warden had to start coming into work by seven in the morning just to keep up with them.

Then there was the matter of the owls.

Owls never made the trek to the offshore prison, or when they did, Warden Blotts highly disapproved. The North Sea was merciless. And though he had a Ministry owl at the prison to conduct official business, he hated sending the poor thing out where it could catch a chill. Warden Blotts was at heart an animal lover. Indecent witches obviously had no objections and loaded their owls down further with packages for Prisoner 11652.

Well, that certainly wasn't allowed. Azkaban had many rules and regulations regarding its upkeep and management. It had been in service since 1730, when it had been created to house uncooperative witches and wizards during the Highland Clearances. There were many laws on the books, and there were many books. Warden Blotts hadn't really bothered to familiarize himself with many of them because he understood intrinsically what it meant to govern a prison, and he didn't require any additional assistance. Aside from that fact, who in their right mind would research prison legislation? Regardless, though he was unable to point to any particular regulation, he was certain that sending things to prisoners ought to be forbidden. He confiscated all incoming parcels, many of which strangely contained several jars of pickled walnuts, and lots of naked photographs. It was an odd combination, to be sure.

* * *

Severus heard the witch outside his door. She'd been running her mouth nonstop for twenty minutes, ostensibly to provoke him into answering her questions, because they became more and more insipid by the minute. Snape-baiting was not a game. It always ended poorly, with lots of mangled fingers and hurt feelings, and Severus always won. Always.

He clenched the newspaper firmly in his grasp and kept his eyes on the Muggle crossword. He was getting much better at them, though many of the television references went over his head. But when in doubt, he substituted a similar word from his own world's vocabulary and then made it fit. The puzzles never quite worked out in his favor that way, but if he had a wand, he was certain he could bend it to his will. And then the letters would all line up. Oh yes, they would.

The Harpy at the door asked another impossibly stupid question. "What does your wife do for work?"

Didn't half the country know the answer to that? He was tempted to answer, _'My dear wife works in the diamond industry. She shoves pieces of coal up her asshole, and eight weeks later diamonds pop out.'_

He doubted Hermione would be pleased. And he wondered if the average Daily Prophet reader would understand sarcasm. No. Probably not. The last weekly reader's poll suggested a third of the subscribers believed 'two left feet' to be a magical malady. St. Mungo's would be overwhelmed by idiots and possibly have a few deaths from arsenic poisoning.

"How did you meet? Was it love at first sight?"

Who wrote these questions? She had been a bushy haired, flat-chested, prepubescent child. No, not a young woman, or even much of a witch; she's been a child. Like all the other bloody first years. Love at first sight? A disgusting concept under the best of circumstances. In reference to pedophilia, it was enough to churn his stomach. And even as a teenager Granger had stuck out in his classes, but never in a good way.

Still, Rita had the temerity to slog on with her insipid questions, ridiculously hoping the prisoner would deign to answer one.

"How is it you managed to survive Nagini's toxic bite?"

Severus rolled his eyes. He had covered all that in his memoirs. His eyes slid over to the book and he was damned tempted to growl at it. He was not a bleeding sex symbol. Fucking Lovegood. No, wait, she was a Creevey now. Still, just as bad.

What was her question? The poisoning, oh yes, he remembered more than he cared about that bit, and was tempted to answer her. Tempted, but not deranged enough to try. Any utterance spoken to that hag would be twisted 'round the bend into something entirely different. Fucking bat-shit crazy reporters.

But he wanted to respond,_ 'The Dark Lord had a rather unhealthy kink for snakes that bordered on the perverse, and that was saying quite a bit, given that it was the Dark Lord, after all. The wizard really took everything to the extreme, except for perhaps the nose. One would think that a wizard professing to have the universe-shaping power and ultimate Dark Arts knowledge could fashion a fucking nose for himself. Well, ignoring the bad personal hygiene and questionable bone structure, the all-powerful wizard liked snakes, and it was only a matter of time before that damned overgrown man-eating snake had a brother Death Eater for a midnight snack. Keeping an anti-venom on me at all times was mandatory.' _

Not that Severus would have minded overly much, but it still gave him the fucking creeps, and he did not creep out over much. He regularly harvested his own Bezoars from goat stomachs. Nothing creeped him out. But seeing Nagini had always caused a cold shudder to race through his spine.

He rather felt if he opened his mouth and uttered that, she'd record it with her poisoned pen and the next day the Prophet would claim he had confessed a love for the Ministry, predicted that hooded robes were back in fashion, and black was the new black.

* * *

"Madam Granger! How did you come to win Professor Snape's heart?"

"Madam Granger, who's your pick for the Quidditch Cup?"

"Hermione!" Hermione turned to the sound of her voice and the flashbulb of an oversized camera blinded her. "What do you say to the rumor you were seen on notorious playboy Donald Browne's arm? "

"Madam Granger, were you having an illicit affair with your husband while attending Hogwarts?"

"Madam Granger, any advice for lonely witches looking for love?"

"Madam Granger, is it true that Severus Snape has slept with every member of the Golden Trio?"

"What!" she shrieked. At her exclamation, rabid pseudo photojournalists furiously wrote down her comment and awaited more. They crowded her closer and Hermione had to push through the throng to get from the Apparition point to the door to Severus' cell block. Getting there meant security, at least in the short term, as the boys would certainly protect her. They did.

The boys, _her_ boys, Strathmore, Mulciber, and Cooley, though complete and utter softies, looked menacing enough when they stood broad muscled shoulder to broad muscled shoulder. No one without Ministry-petitioned approval, or in Hermione's case, Prisoner Guardianship, would get past the security check point. It was one of the very few times the boys were really put upon to do their jobs, and they were chomping at the bit at the opportunity to restrain and forcibly evict one of the members of the Press that had set up lodging in their Apparition courtyard.

They stepped aside quickly to usher Hermione in before closing ranks again and looking right menacingly towards the eager Press. Strathmore cracked his knuckles for effect and the smarter members of the Press Corps stepped back. Prison reform legislation or no, wizards knew better than to fuck with Azkaban guards.

She slid right past the highly dubious Dark Arts Detectors, and sharply turned down his corridor. The sound of one voice echoing off the granite brought her up short, and Hermione was thankful she had worn her silent trainers.

"When you wrote you felt unnaturally compelled to protect Harry, how did you mean that? Are you speaking of a magical obligation or a fatherly inclination? Was the guilt over causing the Potters' deaths motivating you? Tell me about that. It must have been difficult to see the child every day, knowing you had his parent's blood on your hands. Did you ever –"

Rita halted at the unmistakable feeling of a wand pushed between her shoulder blades.

"Buzz off, Rita," Hermione growled, using her wand tip as an extra emphasis.

"I'm registered," she yelped in a slightly high pitched voice. "I have a right to be here," she exclaimed waving a few sheets of pistachio green paperwork. "And he's supposed to open the cell door for me," she added petulantly.

Hermione's eyes flicked to the firmly latched jailer's slot and thanked the heavens for small mercies.  
"Inmates can't open their cell doors, you two-bit hack, or else it wouldn't be much of a prison, now would it?"

As she said this, Hermione's eyes scanned the so-called journalist's paperwork. It did indeed say that the prisoner would open his/her cell door to accommodate the guest. The Ministry in its infinite wisdom strikes again.

She scooted past the journalist and tapped the entrance code into his cell door as best she could, knowing full well the bitch was trying to look over her shoulder. The wards rippled and fell under her wandwork. As fast as she could, Hermione darted in the door and shut it quickly behind her. It was a damn good thing her robes didn't get caught in the door frame. She leveled her wand on it and cast a strong silencing spell on the entire cell, one that Severus had invented, and cast an Obscurus Charm over the jailer's slot. Once satisfied, she slumped into his embrace.

Hermione had trekked to the prison weighted down with dinner and promises she had made to herself. Tonight would be the night she would finally confront him about the other witch. Lily, whom he obviously loved more. Hermione was certain of this because he had never confessed his love for her and never spoken to her in such a beautiful or reverent way. She was 'Vixen,' a whispered epithet of endearment or a growled slur. All her good intentions of confronting him were lost as his soothing warmth enveloped her. Hermione recognized that she would just have to accept being second best. She added it to the growing list of things that she was going to have to accept.

Severus stood behind his witch, feeling her weight resting upon him and ran comforting hands along her arms.

"Are you alright?" he mumbled into her collarbone, "They're harassing you, too, aren't they?"

Hermione sighed, "I suppose it's to be expected. After all, I'm married to the most desirable man in all wizarding England."

Severus stilled, and Hermione winced. She still felt guilty. She had brought this upon their heads. She hadn't honestly expected that he would write the year's biggest bestseller. Everyone had a dog-eared copy of his book tucked up under an arm. It was the talk of the town, and the wizarding world was a really small town. Well, at least she knew of a damned fine way of making amends with the touchy wizard. Hermione turned into his embrace and nuzzled his soft woolen robes, inhaling the scent of the French milled herbal soaps she had come to identify with him. God, she loved this man; she wanted to burrow into his robes and never leave.

Severus rested his chin on his petite witch's head and held her tight. They could bear this. They would get through this if they could just manage to hold on to each other and tell the reporters to back the fuck off. And the idiot witches.

He despised them the most. The reporters, Severus could understand. They had a job to do. Newspapers were in the business of turning a profit and increasing circulation. Screaming empty-headed witches who fancied him their hero had nothing and no one other than their misguided fantasies to blame.

He had heard rumors from Billy of their escapades trying to break into the prison. Some idiot girl, a Ravenclaw he had once taught, no less, had gotten herself arrested for shoplifting and demanded that the Wizengamot sentence her to Azkaban, preferably within his cell or next door. How the blazes he'd managed to find a cult-like following of fanatical fawning witches was beyond him. They certainly were about ten years too late. And they all fancied him some sort of misunderstood dark hero.

Severus was nobody's dark hero, well, except maybe Hermione's. He'd fulfill whatever needful fantasy she wanted him to play out. A cheshire smile curled around his lips as he thought of role-playing with his witch. His witch. He lowered his head as she instinctively tilted hers up. His little witch responded to him, needed him, wanted him. As he sealed his mouth over her soft glossy lips, Severus couldn't help but close his eyes and delight in the feel of her beneath his palms. Her kisses were enough to make his head swim, and as her wicked tongue entered his mouth, Severus moaned happily. She licked at the top of his mouth, coaxing his tongue into following her back into hers. Severus needed no additional encouragement. He backed her knees into their bed and she tumbled down, her clawed hands pulling him atop her. Wicked witch.

Hermione showed him what a delightfully wicked witch she could be, twice in fact, before they had to stop for some light nosh. Like any male, he wanted to lay claim to his witch all night long and give her something to really brag about. His mind skidded to a mental halt. Bragging about his sexual prowess, though ego-inflating, for him was off limits. He'd have to gently remind her not to encourage rumors of his magnificent male appendage, and his intuitive ability to bring her to moaning, shuddering, earth-shattering orgasms... again and again.

But still, even he, Severus Snape, desired by horny witches around the globe, needed to rest between bouts of lovemaking with his wife. He was limited; it was frustrating and disheartening. They were restricted to furiously frotting against each other and employing their oral talents to share in the delights of married life, and still without the aid of his cock Hermione managed to shag him out. It was moments when she left his chest heaving and sweat rivulets running down his neck that he felt so goddamned old, but then a quick glance at his soaked and sleepy witch made him mighty proud.

He still had it.

And he could show _it_ properly to her if he were out of prison and actually able to lay wand to her, but that wasn't meant to be. Severus briefly considered the Gods were using her to torture him, it would be just like them to do so.

The Fates had fucked with his life since birth, and had used him for their perverse pleasure ever since. But Severus castigated himself when he contemplated throwing off the shackles of Azkaban and joining Hermione in a proper marriage. This was his penance.

It wasn't supposed to be easy.

The more difficult and tempting it was, and the more he rose to the challenge, the greater he proved his worth. He could deny himself the sins and pleasures of the flesh if it brought him closer towards forgiveness. Well, abbreviated pleasures of the flesh, if he was completely honest with himself. If he had the ability to fuck her, he would do so at each and every opportunity. The Fates, those blind old hags, were amusing themselves at his expense again.

While Severus pondered the circular thoughts crashing through his skull, Hermione dug into her satchel for lunch. It was a good thing she had brought a light meal and a flagon of bottled water. Severus nabbed the water first. Hermione could drain a wizard so completely, it left him so dehydrated, he needed to drink a full litre before feeling revived enough to be up for another round. He eyed the flagon critically, calculating it and the three others she carried with her. Yes, he could be satisfied for quite some time.

Hermione stretched her arms high above her head, and given that she was deliciously naked, the sight of her rolling her shoulders held him captivated and his mouth dried, despite the water at hand.

"I nearly forgot," she announced, jumping off the bed to rummage in her satchel again. Severus watched her as her round arse spread showing off her lovely backside. As she sorted through the leather case, Hermione was oblivious that she had given Severus the best view in the house. He cocked his head to the side watching her pink feminine lips peek out between her legs and smirked. There was the heart shape. Albeit upside down, but Severus could think of no prettier shape on earth. "A-ha!" she cried triumphantly.

With a look of delighted anticipation, Hermione handed him a clear grey potion. It was the product of the near daily communication between Severus and Hermione's crackerjack potioneer, Gibson.

Severus recognized the potion immediately, even though he had never laid eyes on it, and there was the faintest dimple in his smug grin.

"It's a very pretty brew," Hermione said, by way of a compliment.

Severus' eyes were riveted to the tiny test vial as he took it in hand. "Madam Gibson appears to be a tad generous with the Doxy Eggs, but it seems adequate."

Adequate. High praise from the wizard, and Hermione shuddered to think how he'd describe her. Severus had not lavished compliments upon her outside of the breathy moans in bed when he called her fucking magnificent. He'd never confessed that he loved her, either.

And if she had to guess, Hermione could imagine his voice cataloguing her in the same way he assessed most things, _'Passable witch. Mildly neurotic, with decent enough temperament. Slightly volatile. Tends towards brownish spectrum, with high amounts of hair fluffiness. Provider of nutrients. Acceptable snog.'_

"Well, only one way to find out," he muttered.

Before Hermione could intercede, Severus tipped a splash of it back in his mouth. Horrified didn't come close to describing how she felt.

"Don't do that!" she shrieked, as she hurriedly began looking for physical signs of distress. "That potion is untested. We don't even know what the side effects are yet."

Severus grimaced as he worked his mouth, tasting the concoction on all the areas of his tongue. Satisfied, he opened his eyes to the worried witch.

"Dizziness and mild nausea in a small percentage of imbibers. Completely negligible with possible contraindication when taken with opiates. As you can plainly see, Vixen, I am alive."

"You should never drink something that's not first been vetted-" Hermione stuttered under Severus' dark glare, as he knew she was going to say, 'vetted by a Potion Master.' As if to loudly register his dissent, Severus tasted another sip, swirling it around his palate like a fine wine.

"Ugh! If you're going to poison yourself, you might as well just drink it. There's far too much armadillo bile in that for it to be anywhere near pleasant. If you're so determined to make yourself sick, I've got some Weasley Wizarding Wheezes prototypes with me."

"Stupid girl." Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew she was in for a lecture when Severus reverted to form and used 'Idiot boy,' and 'Stupid girl.' She crossed her arms defiantly and as a protective measure. "Potions are classified by viscosity, color, storage temperature, taste, smell, opacity, toxicity…"

"And consistency," she interjected. "Yes, I've got all that, thank you. I did attend my first year."

Severus glared at her in a mute rage that threatened to take points from Gryffindor, although if she'd been able to see inside his head, she would have seen a vision herself spread across his thighs as he pinked her round cheeks. Severus closed his eyes, Occluding the image away for later and sipped again. When he was satisfied and Hermione appeared sufficiently chastened he deigned to enlighten the little know-it-all.

"Being completely familiar with any brew is the hallmark of a truly great Potions Master. You cannot imagine how many times I was roused from my bed because some little miscreant imbibed some unknown substance and I had only descriptions of the ingested potion as retold by the foolish child to make my determination. Off-hand, I'd say there were at least three attempts to poison me per school year, which ranged from the humiliating prank to an actual attempt to end my life. And as much as I'd like to claim credit that I've thwarted each attempt, that simply isn't true.

"Knowing the unique taste of potions, even when mixed with food, can be a life-saving skill. And you know why potions should never be altered to appeal to taste. The most successful attempt to put me in an early grave was an Eviscerating Solution, flavored as a lemon sherbet. It could have wiped out half the staff, including the Headmaster, if anyone other than Albus ate them."

"I didn't even hear about that," Hermione said with a touch of awe.

"Yes, well," Severus grumbled uncomfortably, "I started teaching when you were three years old."

"Is this the part where you tell me you're some dirty old man and you're much too old for me?"

Calmly and with full rational thought, Severus tidied the bed and cleared away their nosh before gesturing to her with a single finger. Hermione looked as skittish as an unbroken colt as she approached the wizard stretched out in their bed. Growling, Severus caught her hand and pulled Hermione flush into his body before flipping himself on top of her. "Does this feel like an old man to you?" he asked into her ear just before he bit it.

Hermione spent the rest of the evening doing acts of contrition to assuage her guilt and atone for her insult. Like any good penitent, she spent a good deal of her time on her knees.

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter title: Vacca Foeda - Stupid cow (There are many stupid cows in this chapter, I'll let you determine who the title refers to.)

Hey, didya know elleF is translating this fic into Russian? How cool is that! Spasiba elleF!

Thank you to the lovely and talented Christev20 - not only is she a faboo beta, but she's royalty. She's a Powerpoint Queen. I humbly bow.

*Passes out chocolate frogs to readers* Everyone got their sweeties? Good. Story will be rolling out at a slower pace. Possibly 1x/week, but no less than that. We're on our final leg and there much to be done. With that, thank you for reading and staying with the fic. I am amazed by the loyalty you've shown me and the depth of your reviews. Thank you so much, I've been blown over by how wonderful you all are. -AV


	46. Chapter 46

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 46 - Vulpem Pilum Mutat, Non Mores**

His warm body was curled against her, nuzzling into her chest, and tickling her nose with his soft hair. Hermione sighed, wanting to hang on to the lingering moments of sleep before beginning her day. He yawned and stretched against her. Hermione could feel the pronounced ridges of his spine as it pressed into her skin. "Morning Crooksy," she mumbled to her companion.

Her day began as it always did. Hermione was a creature of habit, and rising with the dawn was just another part of her morning ritual. Crooks cracked an eyelid at his Mistress, but as she did not stop for her good morning cuddle and scratch, he lazily adjusted himself and returned to chasing birdies in his mind. Hermione padded softly towards her bathroom, stretching and working out the stiff kinks from her restless sleep. The hot shower brought her clarity and a sense of readiness for the day ahead of her, but an air of melancholy pressed tightly about her.

Later in the office, just before lunch, Jake proudly brought in a large sheet cake and her employees surrounded her, singing loudly. She stared at the pretty handwritten frosting beneath the candles. **Happy 25th Birthday Hermione!** She didn't mind her age being broadcast to her people; she hadn't hit the age when vanity set in and she became cagey about her birthday. Though in wizarding terms, that usually didn't set in with witches until they hit seventy.

She was a baby, and some of her employees who offered her a smile and many happy returns were old enough to be her parents. Twenty-five wasn't much, but she somehow felt lacking, instead of proud of what she had accomplished in her short years.

Everyone had said she'd be a success. She'd been branded an overachiever and dubbed the smartest witch of her age. Certainly everyone had believed Hermione would grow up to do great things. Hermione seriously doubted some of her commercial products were what they had in mind. More to the point, she wondered if anyone would figure out that she was still a young girl playing dress up in robes. She wished she were.

Granger Industries was its own machine, like a windmill that turned and rotated in the breeze whether there was grain to grind or not. It was impossible and beyond her capabilities to stop. Her people needed her, her customers wanted her products, her asshole distributors made demands of her.

Trapped in a gilded cage of her own construction, Hermione couldn't walk away if she wanted to. Every morning started with the sunrise, every evening ended by falling asleep, typically with a quill or thick blue folder in her hand. Her time was measured between meeting everyone's needs at work in the day, and meeting her own needs with Severus at night. And it was killing her. Twenty-five. Just a baby.

She wondered how people would react if she announced she couldn't handle it anymore. It was too much. She just wanted to go home and be a kid. Hermione plastered on a warm smile and passed out slices of cake. Jake had made it, and he'd outdone himself. Even the buttercream icing tasted homemade, and it smelled perfectly like warm vanilla cake should.

If she could just get through the day, she promised herself, she could get through anything. Besides, Hermione breathed, in just a few scant hours she'd be in prison, and she was hoping to stay the weekend if Severus would have her. An odd thought for any outsider who might have been peeking into her unguarded thoughts, but for Hermione it sounded divine. The smile that stretched across her lips suddenly felt more genuine.

* * *

Severus somehow instinctively felt her arrival before he heard her approach. He'd been nervous and on edge all afternoon, counting down the minutes until her normal arrival time, using his new bedside calendar and clock duo. It was his seventh. No, eighth. The seventh one he had killed by playing a game of catch with his wards. Every time he threw it at his window the enchantments bounced it back, which was loads of fun until he lobbed it violently enough and missed his mark. Still, it had been fun to sort through the guts of the little machine and make little toys from the parts. He had taken to regularly destroying his much hated calendar clock duos out of frustration, and she continued to supply more. Cheeky witch. By the Gods, he loved her.

As his wards shimmered, he stood and smoothed down his formal black robes, the set she'd given him for New Years. He had filled out since then, becoming less narrow and jagged from rich meals and little available exercise, and now the tailored set fit him perfectly. But if she continued to feed him as she did, he'd start to resemble signs of pregnancy. Perhaps a conversation about modifying their diet was warranted?

Hermione stepped through in a set of her emerald knit work robes, and though he knew she favored green and the color suited her, he rather enjoyed mocking her Slytherin tendencies. He might have said something glib and terribly cunning, except he was busy watching her, gazing at her with soft eyes as she kicked his door closed with her heel and began pulling food and leftover cake from her satchel. 'Birthday,' he reminded himself. Right. Witches expected their wizards to remember and celebrate Birthdays, Valentine's Day, and Anniversaries. If he cocked this up, he'd be in the proverbial dog house, though Severus wasn't sure what that meant for an already incarcerated wizard.

"Hi," she greeted shyly, her voice faltering slightly. Her eyes dragged up and down his body, taking in his choice of formal robes for the occasion with a slight smile. "I thought I'd bring some cake for you. Not that we have to celebrate or anything. It's silly, really. I'm a grown woman, I don't need to celebrate. It's just a day, but we had so much cake left over. Everyone must be on a diet, I guess."

Severus looked down at the diabetic coma-inducing confection. The scribe had written the sentiment in garish pink and purple icing that didn't suit Hermione's nature at all. He sighed internally; she had brought her own cake. It was another thing to mark down on the list of how he failed her as a husband.

"It looks delicious," he lied.

"No, it looks ghastly, but it tastes fantastic." Hermione eyed the monstrous purple fondant Gerbera daisies and sighed. "Jake went a little overboard," she explained with a shrug.

"I will save room for it, then," Severus said politely.

He was trying. There wasn't even the hint of cynicism in his voice, or at least he didn't think so. Witches were funny about birthdays, and he hoped that whatever was bothering her would pass with the day.

She pulled out burgers and he frowned. Burgers were not celebratory fare, but he wisely kept his own counsel. He had learned better than to prod her when she was in a blue funk. Pestering Hermione to confess to what was really on her mind when she gave answers like, 'I'm fine,' was not an intelligent move. Hermione internalized way too much more than what was healthy, but she couldn't be provoked into speaking about whatever it was until she was good and ready. He knew she'd come around eventually; until then he kept his eyes on his food and waited.

After dinner had been put away Severus stood, feeling very self conscious in front of his audience of one, and cleared his throat. It was easier to give his annual fifth year reproductive health lecture than to give Hermione her gift. He fished in his pocket before withdrawing the black velvet jeweler's box and shuffled from foot to foot. It was the only action he made that betrayed his nervousness, but inside he was a wreck. Hermione would find the gift - and ergo, him - lacking. He had prepared something clever to say, but found his voice hoarse and his throat dry. That, and the words seemed to slip from his mind, so Severus just handed his witch the box and muttered "Many happy returns."

Hermione looked at the box with cautious anticipation and gave him a warm smile as she took it in hand, her smile faltering slightly as she opened the box. Severus sank into his leather chair, feeling like an utter failure. The gift was a mistake. He knew it the moment Mr. Mulciber delivered it by way of Ffoulkes' owl. He'd been fucking reduced to begging another man to select his wife's birthday gift.

The letter he had quilled to Ffoulkes asked him to select something appropriate, as he leaned on the older happily married wizard to know about these things. The reply note assured him that the necklace was a perfect choice, and Ffoulkes' wife had been eyeing a similar necklace. When Severus looked at it, however, he immediately knew the gift was not meant for _his_ wife. Hermione rarely wore gemstones; in fact, he couldn't actually recall her wearing any.

The mass produced sapphire and diamond tear drop pendant was lovely. It was perfectly acceptable jewelry, he supposed, especially for a Ravenclaw witch, but he neither saw himself ever picking it out, nor Hermione wearing it. Severus cursed his good friend under his breath as Hermione pulled it out of the box with a badly disguised frown.

He leaned on his solicitor more than most clients did, but their friendship extended past their professional relationship, and Severus did not have many friends. He thought he could count on Ffoulkes, but obviously he couldn't. Andrew Ffoulkes didn't know Hermione, not really, he didn't know what made her smile and her eyes light up. He had no clue who she was as a person or what made her giggle.

Severus gently fumbled with the clasp as Hermione lifted her hair. He looked at the unremarkable jewelry that said nothing about the character or personality of the witch that wore it and tried to say a kind word. "You look lovely, Hermione," he stated truthfully, his eyes on hers.

"Thank you, Severus. It's a very pretty gift," she replied half heartedly.

Hermione felt for the pendant that rested on her breastbone. It was very pretty, but she was also puzzled by it. It was as if Severus hadn't put any thought into her gift, which she knew was irrational because it wasn't as if he could go on an all day shopping trip to pick out the perfect present for her. But still, it had been disappointing.

It didn't speak to their relationship, or make any proclamation one way or another, and Hermione couldn't get a reading of what it meant. She couldn't get a reading on what her wizard wanted to say. She was saddened to think that maybe he didn't actually have anything to say to her. There wouldn't be any heartfelt declarations of love, or tender words of commitment. Just 'many happy returns.'

She had felt empty all day, but as she packed up the remainder of the cake for Severus, absently going through the motions, Hermione began to crumble. Perhaps she'd been too hasty in assuming that heartfelt declarations of love and tender words of commitment would ever be forthcoming. Perhaps she was deluding herself, and Severus really didn't feel that way.

With a sudden weariness he hadn't felt in ages, Severus dropped heavily into his leather armchair, quite ready to reach for the last of the Ogden's Special Reserve once Hermione left. He expected she'd leave and all hopes of a weekend lie-in had been blown away. She'd return to the Homestead and mope about in depression, something she'd been doing quite a lot lately.

Witnessing his knees give way was oddly disconcerting for Hermione, and it snapped her back to the reality she was living in. Sometimes, in their home, which wasn't a home at all, but a cell, she forgot. She forgot that they were in the middle of the harsh North Sea. She forgot that he was branded a common criminal, although those who knew the wizard would never term him common. It slipped her mind that he was bound to the place, just as she was bound to Apparate the long journey to get there. The cell was a cell, but it felt like _their_ home. His bed was _their_ bed. But she recognized that she needed to lighten up on him, and give him the benefit of the doubt. The fact that he remembered her birthday, and managed to get her a gift while imprisoned, spoke volumes about their relationship. So what if it wasn't what she would have liked? And now, as she watched him slumped in his armchair, looking like the wind had been kicked out of him, Hermione softened.

A smooth hand cupping his jaw interrupted Severus' deep contemplation of his shortcomings and failures, as Hermione smiled down at him.

"Budge up, you."

"Hermione, I hardly think there's room enough for two here."

"Hm… I suppose then I'll just have to make do with your seat."

In short order, Severus had his witch on his lap and her arms twined around his neck. If that wasn't enough to drive coherent thoughts from his highly rational mind, Hermione was licking with her supple tongue the strong column of his throat and leaving what was certain to be marks on the flesh she found there.

Even the raw puckered skin was given proper adoration, and Severus shuddered under the tremendous sensations that darted across his nerve endings. The witch was kissing him _there_ of all places. It was indescribably euphoric. His Hermione didn't turn her head in disgust or hesitation. Indeed, Severus mused absently before the wicked witch wriggled against his arousal, it was nearly as if she were cleansing the wound. She was sucking the poison from him.

It was an absurd notion, borne from the insanity that occasionally crept into his thoughts after long years of solitary confinement. But by her loving treatment of his much-abused person, he could almost imagine she was cleansing him. The wound should have been his death, and yet, with his arms filled by the warm and very real woman, his wife, she was life. Severus threw his head back dizzily, his mind swimming in and out of focus as his Vixen attacked an earlobe.

He held her, allowing her to writhe against his body, even as she plucked at the line of buttons descending from his collar. Her warm palms coasted over his pectorals before tracing the musculature of his shoulders and feeling out the pale lines of scars. Severus had a body built by decades of demanding physical labor, of hauling cauldrons and harvesting the earth. Service to two Masters who called him at their leisure had developed his frame so well that even after years of arrested movement and limited exertion in a cell not large enough to properly stretch out his legs, his muscles were still defined. Apparently, Hermione held an appreciation for his physique. It was entirely mutual.

As his own gripping hands found purchase of her robes, running gently under hemlines to touch her heated skin, Hermione shuddered slightly before untangling herself from his lap. Severus nearly followed her from his chair, wanting and striving for more of her lush embrace, until she held him down. He sat back dumbfounded as his Vixen dropped her outer robes in a puddle at her feet. The sound of his thick swallow when her sweater followed could be heard throughout the cell. He'd seen strip teases before, but Hermione wasn't teasing. She was making herself deliciously naked for him. She shimmied out of her knit skirt and he could not restrain himself to behave when she pulled down her cotton knickers. The crotch was visibly soaked. He was a damned man.

Severus pulled Hermione between his legs, flexing and kneading the rounded curve of her rump while laying kisses underneath the swell of her breasts. He had learned his witch well and knew that kissing and nuzzling the heavy flesh turned her on. When the heady, warm aroma of her moisture hit his nostrils, Severus was lost. Hermione's head flew back as Severus lifted her forward into him, her legs straddling the armrests. Her thighs were spread wide, which brought her nipples at the perfect height for Severus to worship the tightened buds with his hungry mouth.

As one hand kept a steady grip on her hip, dragging the crux of Hermione's need back and forth across his tented trousers, Severus worked dexterous fingers around her to touch her warm button. The first contact of his cool tapered fingers firmly stroking her made Hermione wail. Vulgarly displayed before him, she was his. Any part. Every part. Hermione knew, evil warding or not, she belonged entirely to her husband.

Severus' reciprocating firm kisses on her arched neck would without a doubt leave bruising marks, and she'd wear them to work if they were still there Monday. She hoped they would still be there. Hermione panted for a moment, slumped slightly over his shoulder as Severus fumbled awkwardly between their bodies to unbutton his trousers and pull out the large thickened length of his cock. Hermione reached down, batting his hand away, to touch his heavily weighted member. She stroked the velvety skin with sure fingers. Palming the glistening essence weeping at the tip, Hermione worked her hand in twisting, sliding motions that made Severus hiss. She gathered the silken moisture that drenched her pussy in her palm and along her fingers, and lubricated Severus' cock with their joined essences.

Hermione grinned triumphantly into the crook of his neck when Severus bucked into her hand. He was just as helpless against her as she was to him. He was hers. Any part. Every part.

Hermione broke her ministrations to pull herself tightly against him, trapping his cock between his belly and her engorged clit. Severus' hands traveled up her lean back, spread wide to reach all parts of her before twisting into the cascade of her hair. Their mouths met hungrily, twinning together in unrestrained passion. Consuming bliss without struggle. Hermione sinuously moved against his length, her cries drowning in Severus' mouth. He held her then, hoisting her hips and adding his own thrusts against her womanhood as she clawed at the robes that hung loosely open on his shoulders for leverage. She pressed her nose into his skin, inhaling the herbal soap and Severus.

Strong, clenching hands smoothed down her cheeks, fingering gently against her tight pucker before moving forward to caress the parted flesh between her legs. Hermione twitched and moaned loudly at the feeling of questing fingers massaging her as his velvety cock tortured her clit. Severus growled louder, no longer suppressed by kisses alone as he thrust against her molten skin. His deep reverberating groans came from deep within his throat like a chained beast brought to his limit. Severus slid digits into the slickened sleeve of her fluttering pussy and gave himself over to his own straining release as Hermione bounced and shuddered in her own drowning orgasm. Her hot juices flowed over his palm and down her thighs staining the crotch of his wool trousers he had missed with his own spurting come, but Severus didn't spare a thought to it.

Slumped and sated, and locked in their embrace, the lovers eventually found the bed.

Hermione was wonderfully mussed and playing with his chest hair, a nasty habit of hers that Severus did not at all like. Not that he'd confess to her that it tickled, because Severus was not a ticklish man. But as he was about to advise her that it was impossible to braid his chest hair, when he noticed that she was not only biting her lower lip, but she had drawn it completely into her mouth. Severus was a wise enough man to read that something was on her mind.

Having deep conversations regarding life and the nature of the universe while snuggled in bed was on his list of most painful situations. It was down there around 'Tea with Hagrid' and 'Scourging by the Dark Lord.' The tea was only marginally more palatable. Except that he knew not everything was well in the Magic Kingdom.

The wards had been screaming at him for days that she was terribly depressed and anxious. Well, he didn't have a particularly sunny disposition either, especially given how his life story had been received. Still… her weariness was of particular worry, and Severus was keen to avoid a depressive episode that possibly featured Liquid Sunshine. And she was his wife, damn it. He hoped she felt comfortable enough to bring him her troubles, and was disappointed that she hadn't. He wasn't going to play Divination guessing-games to figure out what was eating her.

Severus rolled towards her, drawing her breasts against his chest so she'd stop tickling the hair with her fingers. Except Severus wasn't ticklish.

"Hermione, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Her eyes were thickly lashed and rimmed with smudges of liner that made them seem impossibly large and Severus took a moment to appreciate how beautiful those brown eyes were. Her lashes fluttered as Hermione avoided his penetrating gaze. He could read her so well, and what he saw disturbed him.

He nudged her chin to get her to look at him again and made his best attempt to appear concerned. For her he could almost manage to seem soft. Of course he hadn't realized that Hermione had learned to read Severus long ago and no longer thought him cruel. There was softness and vulnerability to him; and on her own Hermione had learned that Lily was the cause of some of those feelings of vulnerability. But Hermione didn't want to talk about the other witch. That was a sharp painful feeling she didn't want to dredge up, so instead she buried it along with her own vulnerabilities and insecurities.

Severus was about to repeat himself, thus proving he was a man of infinite patience, when Hermione spoke, turning her head into his shoulder to muffle her words.

"Why are you here, Severus?"

Severus exhaled loudly, and a hissing sound came from his lips as he laid back and stared at the stone ceiling. His mind was blank. He hadn't expected the question. And in truth, it wasn't the question that Hermione had prepared herself to ask, but it nagged at her and seemed the least threatening of all questions to ask.

"We've discussed this already," he muttered half-heartedly.

"Not really."

"It's written in the book," Severus stated, as if that answered everything. He was beginning to believe that he could just point to _Ex Intempestivo Pax_ any time he wanted to avoid her questions entirely.

Except avoiding Hermione was impossible. It was easier to ditch the old poof when he wanted a chaperone for a dance than it was to avoid Hermione. The witch was entrenched into every bit of his life. And though she was still the world's biggest swot, she wouldn't likely accept, 'Go look it up,' as an answer.

"I'm serving penance." There, that sounded reasonable enough. "You know this already."

She nodded wisely and Severus waited for the other wand to drop. Briefly he considered preempting the witch by dragging her attention to something else, but for the life of him Severus was sated, had a naked witch curled against him, and couldn't think of a single topic to distract her with. Wicked Vixen. He resigned himself to the fact that she would get what she wanted. Rita Skeeter could have taken lessons from her.

Besides, Severus reminded himself. It was her Birthday. He could afford to be generous and still not sound like an absolute pussy. Cunning Vixen.

"Penance can be served anywhere, and you have the ability to leave at any time." She frowned to herself recalling the massive outcry from Severus Snape fans clutching his book and demanding his release.

"Why here? Why Azkaban."

Severus' glittering eyes searched her face and listened for any traces of malice or accusation, but Hermione spoke sadly as if she felt just as resigned to her fate as he was resigned to his. For a moment he pondered the choice she had made to marry an incarcerated man. Hermione was giving up an incredible amount to be with him. His heart clenched, and had she known about it, Hermione would have elaborated that this feeling was the 'Empathy' that she had tried unsuccessfully to describe for him. Against his better judgment, Severus felt his lips begin to loosen. Beloved Vixen.

"Where would I go? Where better than here? Society has judged me unfit and unredeemable."

"Not anymore," she whispered and the thin lines of his mouth pressed together in a glower. Neither said anything about his growing legions of Snapettes.

Severus eyed her loosely curled hair. It had become frizzier since their carnal exertions, and her small imperfections were part of the things he loved about her. They could dance all night. She could raise her impudent hand, peppering him with nonstop questions like a student, or he could assuage her, and give her the answers he knew she was itching for. She ought to consider it a birthday gift. Something a bit more substantial than the pendant that hung between her breasts.

Hermione watched closely as Severus' jaw clenched rhythmically, and she held her breath in anticipation. He hadn't told her off or admonished her, not really. And she could see the barriers slowly start to tumble down from their crumbling foundations.

"I regret killing Albus," he said slowly, as if the words were distasteful in his mouth.

"Of course you do," Hermione offered helpfully. "But you have to know by now that he doesn't blame you. His portrait even dictated the Foreward of your book." Hermione winced, realizing she sounded a bit callous and preachy. They had discussed this before, and her argument that it wasn't murder wouldn't help. "I'm sorry, I'm not helping. You regret killing Albus. Go on."

His jaw clenched several more times, and Severus had a death grip on the bedding. "Albus wasn't the first wizard I killed," he confessed in a terse voice. "Name those I've wronged."

"Pardon?" Hermione blinked not following Severus' logic. She didn't see the connective tissue that led to the Headmaster's death.

"Name those I've wronged. If you want the list, start with my parents and half my genetic line who hate me by virtue of my existence."

"That's not a wrong," Hermione corrected. "That's their prejudice."

Severus continued speaking as if he hadn't heard her. "Then we can add every Marauderer – please note, all deceased, including Lily. Don't forget twenty-six Muggles murdered by Death Eaters. I either participated directly or indirectly in their killings, or they were dead by my wand. Shall I go on to list how many I've tortured? I'll try my best, but even I've lost count, and I've tried to remember," Severus frowned to himself and Hermione found herself unaccountably tense as Severus began to relax.

"That takes us through the end of the first war."

Hermione was sickened.

He looked down upon his pale and ashen Vixen and resigned himself to hurting her. It was best to yank the bandage from the wound at once. She'd understand he was an unredeemable monster and would stop pestering him to justify his need for penance. Then perhaps he'd finally find peace within the walls of his cell.

"Can't handle it, my dear? I was directly involved in the deaths of a further seven wizards and thirty-four Muggles during the short span that he was reincarnated. Don't ask me to count the tortured either, or how many minds I've destroyed with Obliviation. So, where to end this tragic tale?

"Do I atone to their families? Throw myself atop their graves? In the case of Dumbledore's tomb, I rather believe that would be quite dramatic. The Prophet would be eager for such a photograph. But then what do I do about all the children who were never given the chance to draw breath because I killed their would-be families?

"Where does it end, Hermione? How do I beg forgiveness to the deceased? I cannot begin to satisfy their debt. It will go forever unpaid, and I cannot do charity work or create a potion and make it all better. That simplistic line of thinking has no place for the real world."

Severus shook his head and took a deep breath. Shuttering himself away was all for the best. The only way he knew how to repay his sins was to take it out of his own flesh.

"Look at me, Hermione."

Her eyes alighted on his. They glistened with impending tears, but Severus ignored them. She had asked for this. She had poked and prodded him ceaselessly for answers she didn't want to hear ever since she came to the erroneous determination that he was somehow innocent. Death Eaters were never innocent. He'd tried to tell her that, though it was foolish to even have to articulate it. Everyone knew Death Eaters were merciless with their victims. His supplying the Dark Lord with potionry to keep him alive and strengthened was an abomination, and it made him partially responsible for every Avada Kedavra the Dark Lord cast. He'd tried to tell his readers that as well, but they only saw what they wanted to see. Yes, he told both sides of the tale, but that wasn't a request for leniency.

"I am not a nice man, Hermione. I regret killing Dumbledore. I do not regret any of the other deaths. They were victims of a much larger machine. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or did something to incur the Dark Lords wrath. Or I carried out killings and tortures in my service as a spy. That was my job. It's not something I'll readily apologize for.

"But it's best that I stay here in Azkaban, Hermione. I don't regret killing them. I've rationalized death to the point that it does not bother me. And I'd easily kill again. You didn't take me seriously when I told you I'd slit Mister Hopper's throat. I'd kill anyone who harasses you, and I wouldn't feel remorse.

"Leave me to my penance, Hermione. Perhaps through years of contrition I'll finally be able to stop justifying taking a life, but it's obvious I'm not ready to leave Azkaban. I have too much unpaid blood on my hands."

Hermione sat up, running cold hands over her bare shoulders and shuddered lightly. Severus made no effort to comfort her.

"I have to think about this," she said hollowly.

"I expect as much."

"Are you trying to drive me away?" she asked.

If he had made this sort of confession to her long ago, before they had become intimate, before she had fallen in love with him, Hermione would never have returned to the wizard. Now? Now, she didn't know how much she could put up with. She didn't know if she could accept this from Severus, if her love for him was strong enough to accept the true darkness he had concealed from her.

Silence stretched between them.

"No," he replied quietly. "If I had wanted to drive you away, I would have told you this the day you proposed marriage."

Hermione nodded. "I thought as much."

Severus ran a gentle hand down her naked back, feeling the pricks of goose pimples along her skin.

"I won't hide from you, Hermione. You wanted to know, and… you deserved an answer."

He loved her. He had barely confessed it to himself, and hadn't the courage to confess it to her, but he knew if they were to move forward together, she had to know. He couldn't undo the mistakes of his past. He couldn't distance himself from who he was, an unrepentant murderer, who, if necessary would kill again. But within Azkaban, within the walls that kept him safe, they could make a life together.

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A/N:  
Chapter title: Vulpem Pilum Mutat, Non Mores - A fox may change its hair, not its tricks.

This was a very difficult chapter to write, and I must thank my nursemaid, I mean my beta, Christev20 for getting me through this.

Thank you dear readers, for staying with this fic. -AV


	47. Chapter 47

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 47 - Leve Fit, Quod Bene Fertur, Onus**

If Hermione was inclined to be honest with herself, she'd have admitted that her initial reaction to Severus' confession of sins was met with disgust and repulsion. It was horribly sickening, and Hermione wondered how the wizard she loved could be such a monster. The feeling lasted all of three minutes. She had an epiphany, midway between Aberdeen and Dumfries, and nearly Splinched herself. Hermione realized she was, in fact, an ass.

So she was repulsed by Severus' torturing and Obliviating? That was only to be expected; it was nasty business. But her life was hardly blameless either, and she had no right to judge or cast stones at Severus' past. Had she not led that Umbridge cow straight to the Centaurs? They had used the witch thoroughly for a solid two weeks, and years later Hermione still could not muster up much empathy for Umbridge.

If pressed, Hermione could mimic horror and shame for her misdeeds, and pretend she hadn't had a clue what would happen when she had served up Fudge's Toadie. Well, that at least was vaguely truthful. Hermione had hoped Grawp would level the playing field and seize her, not the Centaurs. Though even to this day, Hermione was still proud by how it all had gone down. And ever since Madam Umbridge had taken a position in the Ministry's Patent Registration office, Hermione harbored a perverse desire to lure her back into the forest.

Did that make her a bad person?

Worse than Severus?

At least he was making a decent, albeit misguided stab at penance. Perhaps she needed her own adjoining cell.  
Hermione finished her journey back to the Homestead with a weary heart, and much on her mind.

In Azkaban, Severus' head lifted from the pages of his book and his teeth reflexively clenched. He felt very much on razor's edge as Hermione decided his fate. The funerary texts from ancient Egypt came to mind, and Severus imagined his heart was currently being weighed against Ma'at's feather. As his focus shifted from the words littering the pages before him to the timbers creaking beneath her feet, Severus stonily awaited judgment.

Hermione was pacing those floorboards at that very moment. The Homestead's four Elfkins, Faline, Thumper, Flower, and Goofy were watching her from the Master's bed, their impossibly wide eyes tracking her movements like a ping pong ball swatted across a table. None of the Elfkins had yet grown into their floppy ears, and they twitched slightly, confused by their Mistress' deep set scowl.

Mistress, descendant of hairless apes and harlots, was profoundly disturbed. Narrow tunnels of thought broke off and scattered as Hermione's thoughts swelled, ideas pinging from one leaping notion to the next. Severus kept himself imprisoned, not because he felt guilty, but because he had rationalized and made peace with his past. In accepting what he'd done was wrong, he understood he rightly deserved punishment. What did Hermione deserve?

Was she somehow lacking the same moral fiber because she had also accepted her past and justified her behavior in war? Hermione searched her heart and felt no remorse either. Her actions in war were justified. And though she did not have two decades of Death Eater sins to atone for, was she really that different? No. She slept well at night because she hadn't thrown a single Unforgivable at the Battle of Hogwarts, but that didn't mean she hadn't blown Selwyn's fucking head off.

But that had been an act of war. And so had Severus' spying and Death Eater days. For every point there was a counter-point. Hermione didn't have nearly as much blood on her hands as Severus did, but she had enough experience to be able to empathize and see herself in his shoes.

He had warned her, repeatedly, not to romanticize his role as a Death Eater. Hermione mentally snorted. Just what did he think the _Golden Trio_ was? A jazz combo? A circus tumbling act?

She rather suspected, if she hadn't been able to accept the sins of her past, she'd have gone round the certifiably insane long ago. Deny, Minimize, Justify. According to her self-help books, that was the process. Well, she could justify, rationalize, and accept the same sins Severus castigated himself over, and that didn't make her a bad person… probably.

But Severus wasn't only worried about what he had done, it was the fear of what he would do – what he could do again, that kept him firmly rooted in prison. For the sake of momentary honesty, Hermione was nearly prepared to admit she had gotten excited at the prospect of Severus taking care of her little problem with the Douchebag. Ergo, perhaps she wasn't quite the moral authority to make such a judgment on such a thing. That, and she really couldn't envision Severus aimlessly killing whatever wandering wizards got in his way.

"Hm..." Hermione pondered to herself before padding out of the Master's chambers.

The four Elfkins looked at each other, trading puzzled glances, before hopping off the bed and following after her.

Hermione wandered from room to room, absently searching, but not sure of what she was looking for. Something with an answer. She drew up short as she passed by the nursery.

Though she couldn't get Ron's inane description of a witch preparing her life for children, Hermione asserted she was not nesting. Nesting sounded absurd, and Severus wasn't likely to want children, even if he were able to put her up the duff.

Still… her eyes hovered over the crib, and washed over the adorable old fashioned pram, and all the children's storybooks she had purchased for the room. Because at the time it seemed such a shame that the lovely room would be without books for a happy child to flip through. No, not her child, well maybe, if she were very lucky. But it was possible that if Billy and Ginny ever did have any children of their own, and maybe if they came for a visit, and it was too late for them to leave or if there was a storm, then perhaps the children would stay and enjoy the nursery. In which case, she was perfectly justified in decorating it for the wee darlings. Yes, that sounded about right.

Hermione firmly closed the nursery door, and resolved not to linger there again.

The perplexed Elfkins paused at the door before scurrying to keep up with their Mistress as she headed resolutely towards the library.

It was well advanced into the evening, and still her birthday, as Hermione lit the sconces in the Prince library. The night was quiet, and through the gauzy sheers, Hermione could see just about every star in the heavens. She frowned. Given her mood, she much preferred a torrential downpour - unending rain to trickle down the leaded windowpanes and fulfill her need to storm within herself. Without the magical lull of rain splattering on rooftops, the library was disturbingly quiet.

The limestone fireplace was family sized and obviously once hooked to the Floo Network. The mantle came to Hermione's shoulders and was carved with laughing green men and snarling hinkypunks entwined by oak leaves. It matched the carvings on the bookcases. Hermione had gutted and modernized many of the Homestead's dark and drab rooms, but she couldn't bring herself to touch the library, other than to add her own collection of books. The library's overwhelming sense of drama had robbed her of speech for a great long while when she first laid eyes on it. That was a reaction she hadn't had since she first stepped into her magical world, and at times she ached to hole herself up inside the library and never leave.

Except she barely had time to set foot in the room, or any of the other parts of the Homestead. Hermione lived below ground in Granger Industry's headquarters and manufacturing plant, and in the dead center of the North Sea in a cramped cell not designed for two people and a life.

She lit a small, paltry looking fire in the mouth-like cavern of the hearth. It added ambiance, not warmth, to the room, but Hermione was too distracted to care much. From her personal library, which only managed to fill a few bookcases, she made a selection from the self-help and psychology section and snuggled up on a divan. Skimming to the indexes looking for information on Survivor's Guilt and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Hermione fell into the comfortable habit of searching for answers.

* * *

"Oo-uch," she whined testily, rubbing the crick in her neck with ink stained fingers. The enormous library windows looked out upon the verdant rolling meadow that was 'the Green.' She had awoken to an absurdly cheerful morning. It was already much too bright to be her typical waking hour, and Hermione jumped off the divan at once, spilling stacks of books, fluttering a patchwork of scrawled notes, and kicking a half full inkpot over. The ink saturated what was certain to be a very old and possibly priceless vegetable dyed carpet. The four sleeping Elfkins lying on the hearth rug awoke immediately and scattered.

"Fuck!" Hermione exclaimed, doing her best at removing the stain before it set. She was only marginally proficient in household charms, which was yet another reason why she had dodged a bullet by turning down Ron's proposal.

Instead she had married Severus. Hell, she had even proposed to him.

She eyed the litter of scrap parchment at her feet and gathered them into a neat pile.

The revelations of the day before, combined with the reading she had done, cemented one thought above all others in her mind. Azkaban was the wrong place for him. Severus didn't need penance, he needed therapy. And Hermione?

Hermione grimaced. She needed a real life. No more trekking across the globe, no more reheated take-away, no more erectile-dysfunctional warding, and certainly no more half lives. She wanted her husband. All of him. And like it or not, Severus was just going to have to adjust.

"Daisy," Hermione summoned.

The excitable house-elf 'popped' into view clasping her hands and smiling widely at the prospect of being a service to her Mistress, vile polluter of pure magic _and_ bringer of the Secret Magic of Disney, because she rarely called upon them for service.

"Could you please bring me some breakfast, here, in the library. Oh, and some fresh quills, parchment and another pot of ink. Thank you, Daisy."

Daisy curtsied and 'popped' out, overwhelmed in her excitement.

Hermione began to set her items out at the large reading table, and fought for space to work as Daisy lavishly laid the table full of food.

She munched simply on toast and jam. As appetizing as a full English breakfast, powdered beignets, a casserole, blinies, and an entire spiral cut ham were, Hermione hadn't the appetite.

Her full concentration was dedicated to one task alone – convince Severus to leave Azkaban.

She wrote a bold heading at the top of a fresh sheet of high grade parchment and underlined it, repeatedly for  
emphasis. It was time to make a list.

**ARGUMENTS FOR LEAVING PRISON**

* * *

Severus was well aware that his fate was sealed. The moment her eyes blinked open, he felt her resolve. He murmured a fervent prayer that he'd finally gotten through the dense forest of curls that surrounded the supposedly intelligent brain of hers and she understood he was happy where he was. He was finally doing something worthwhile with his life. He had neither had the wand to hex with, nor the potions lab to poison with – he simply was, and finding peace after miserable decades of blood was not something he was so willing to give up.

Despite the cheerfully sunny rays lighting up his cell, Severus was in a dark mood. He ran his fingertips over the bindings of his newest collection of books. He had requested something with substance. The swashbuckling tales, and dear Gods the Regency twaddle, were not to his liking. Hermione had only rolled her eyes and presented him with some new writers. With names like Kafka, Gogol, and Dostoyevsky, they were overwhelmingly Eastern European in origin, meaning they were both Muggle and foreign, and for some reason he'd been unaccountably skittish about that, but Severus had quickly fallen in love.

He mused briefly before pulling out Kafka. The strange irony of reading a story about a man sentenced for an unnamed crime seemed fitting – nearly Kafkaesque.

He felt Hermione as a nudging tickle in the backside of his brain. He kept a sly awareness out for her as he began to reread a story about an unhealthy relationship between a young man and his father. And the cold hand around his chest constricted him. She was resolved, about what, he could only guess. But Hermione was working herself up into a flurry of activity.

His attention was further divided by the curious goings-on in the cell block. The corridors whispered to him in hollow footsteps and banging doors.

The procession finally stopped outside his door, and Severus arched an inquiring eyebrow just before he heard a loud, nervous sounding voice call out, "Prisoner 11652, present yourself!"

Severus frowned and slowly marked his page. He took a moment to straighten his robes and elegantly spread his arms to the side of his body to display he was unarmed.

Warden Blotts courteously held open Severus' door for a scowling witch in lime green healer's robes. The dumpy matron had her arms folded beneath her chest, displaying her ample bosom and her obvious displeasure.

"And as you can see, Healer Culpepper, Prisoner 11652 is the very model of perfect health," Warden Blotts indicated with a ridiculous wave of his hand. "He's the only non-Kissed wizard we have in the Long-Term Inmate cell block, but don't worry, if he should turn violent, I'll be able to protect you." Severus highly doubted the Warden would'd have time to draw his wand, much less utter a curse before he found his vision swimming. Severus clenched his fist, jutting the tip of his thumb out slightly. If necessary, he was perfectly prepared to jab it into the tracheal notch on the Warden's collarbone. The Warden continued to speak about Severus as if he weren't in the room. "…And all of our inmates are cared for with the same attention that Prisoner 11652 receives."

Healer Culpepper clearly didn't believe a word of it, and already had her wand moving in arching swirls around his person with a look of supreme distaste etched on her stout features. A covert glance at the Warden reflected that the wizard was perspiring heavily and was close to passing out already.

"I'll need to examine your other prisoners," the Healer said drily, "Not just the ones in this cell block."

Severus openly watched all the color drain from the Wardens face, not bothering to disguise his smirk. If a St Mungo's Healer was making the rounds amongst the prisoners it was a sure-fire indicator that someone was displeased with the Warden.

Someone was displeased with the Warden, and he was learning the hard way that Deputy Undersecretary Weasley wasn't one to be ignored. Warden Blotts had been yanked out of his warm bed, on a Saturday no less, to present himself before his boss, the Director of Special Ministerial Operations, regarding medical examinations. Deputy Undersecretary Weasley had requested the medical files of everyone incarcerated in the Long-Term Inmate cell block. That was all fine and dandy, except he didn't have medical files.

How was he supposed to know they needed check-ups every six months!

Nobody ever told him Kissed inmates needed to be inspected for bedsores. They were Kissed, for crying out loud. It wasn't as if they were going to write nasty letters or vote for the opposition party in the coming elections. Fortunately, it appeared as if someone on his prison staff was taking diligent care of the bodies, and Warden Blotts was relieved. It wouldn't do well at all for the Healer to report back that he wasn't providing for his inmates. So long as she stayed away from his bilge-level cells, all would be fine. He had a sinking feeling Healer Culpepper was going to want to see them, though.

Just before the last round of Prison Reform legislation passed, all of Azkaban's Kissed population was moved to St Mungo's, and good riddance to them. When Warden Blotts filed the special requests to have the additional inmates Kissed, he had just been transferred from the Patent and Registration office; so really, it wasn't his fault at all.

"Prisoner, um…"

"11652," Severus offered smoothly. "Or Mr. Snape."

Her eyes lit up briefly before resettling on him. "Oh. Oh my. I haven't read your book yet, but I think I might now. The girls have all said wonderful things about it, you know."

The sound of his jaw clicking as his back teeth ground together could be heard throughout the cell.

"That sounds like Temporomandibular Joint Disorder, Mr. Snape," the Healer cooed sweetly while waving her wand. "I think I can solve that little problem for you."

In short order Severus found himself staring up at his ceiling, the Healer's fingers wrapped around his neck and her wand working circles into his jaw. Feeling so entirely vulnerable was not a position he ever wanted to be in, but he hadn't the power to stop any of it. He'd given up his freedom of choice when he opted to serve his sentence in Azkaban. Still, it was a small price to pay for the freedom of his self determination.

"There, there," she patted his shoulder affectionately. "All better now. As I was saying, you're doing well, though best to keep those sweets down to a minimum." She tweaked his cheek for good measure, and Severus glared at the witch. It was rich advice from someone Severus suspected was a biscuit-eating Hufflepuff.

The Healer tucked her wand away and gave Severus another appraising glance before turning her attentions towards the Warden. Her delighted countenance promptly slid back into barely restrained contempt, and Warden Blotts promptly ushered her out, with only a wistful backwards glance at Severus' well appointed cell. Prisoner 11652 had a much finer looking quill collection than he did.

* * *

A/N:

Chapter title: Leve Fit, Quod Bene Fertur, Onus - The burden is made light which is borne well. (Ovid)

It occures to me that this would be my second Kafka reference in this fic... It's fitting. You allowed me to have 'Hermione loves showtunes,' gimme 'Severus loves Kafka.' (thank you)

Thanks and cough drops (sorry no schmootches this time) to Christev20 for beta'ing this chapter from her sick bed. Feel better love.

Thank you to everyone who's been patient with me. Next update, next week. AV


	48. Chapter 48

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 48 - Vos Vestros Servate, Meos Mihi Linquite Mores **

Her notes were perfectly arranged – well of course they were; her notes were always perfectly arranged. That, however, wasn't the problem. Hermione believed she had several well thought out and convincing arguments. Whether they'd sway Severus was another matter entirely. Fortunately, she recognized that waltzing in, proverbial wand a-blazing and making heavy-handed demands, was not the most advantageous route. She suspected he'd prefer a calm, rational, well presented argument that both satisfied his intrinsic need to make restitution for his past sins and transgressions, while satisfying _their_ need for a life and marriage together.

Hermione bit her lip and dutifully wrote down, 'intrinsic need to make restitution for past sins and transgressions.' It sounded nice. She grabbed another leaf of parchment from the dwindling stack the elves had put out for her and scribbled **Cognitive Needs**, and **Affective Needs**.

She'd spent most of the day deconstructing logical arguments, to the point that the sun was hanging low and hazy in the sky. Not that she'd admit to lingering in the library as a method of avoiding Severus… of course not.

From a purely 'Benefit Humanity to reach Atonement' perspective, Severus wasn't doing a damn bit of good to anyone by locking himself away. True, he'd argued that he couldn't solve the world's problems by working on healing potions, but shouldn't he try? Wouldn't devoting his life to acts of kindness be better than solitary devotion? Hermione wasn't sure if he'd go for that, but it was as solid a point as any other she had. So far it was about the best argument she had. Well, the least inflammatory anyhow.

And he'd never go for the argument that forgiveness did not have to be earned - it was available to those who accepted it. Just because _she_ believed in a merciful God with a never-ending capacity for forgiveness did not mean Severus would. She rather suspected he believed otherwise - for no other reason than perhaps to be bitter and contrary.

On the Affective side Hermione began to jot down their needs. She didn't know how well he'd take to a declaration of love from her. It was possible he was waiting for the brave little Gryffindor to make the first move – fucking Slytherins – but she didn't want this discussion to be the first time she used the _L-word_. It was like a trump card, but one she was hesitant to pull. Not that she expected a besotted Severus Snape to return her affections and begin reciting sonnets to her beauty. No, their wedding had been lack-luster. They'd been married in a dingy ante-chamber on Fish Night with neither family to witness nor flowers for her hair. She wanted to save the _L-word_. She wanted it on her own terms, and wanted it to be a romantic moment - not part of a dispassionate and logical argument.

Hermione continued to scribble her longings for a family, a happy, healthy home, and some semblance of normalcy. These were things she'd already laid down on paper before, but it gave her confidence and reassurance to trace the letters over and over again, to commit her them to memory. If necessary, she was perfectly willing to expose herself. She'd have to push away the feelings of inadequacy that lingered after her realization of his love for Lily.

Perhaps he didn't love her as deeply as he loved Harry's Mum, but surely that didn't discredit the fact that they were married, Hermione was attentive to his needs and willing to be a good wife – whatever that meant – and well, didn't they have a future together? Wasn't that enough?

Hermione sighed and brushed a snarled curl from her face.

She was stalling.

She hadn't come up with a new point in the last hour. Stretching until her hunched back popped, Hermione reassessed the daylight streaming through the high windows. No, she hadn't made a new point in probably four hours. Damn.

Severus would be expecting dinner soon.

She should have stayed the night, brought him breakfast and spent the morning snuggling together.

"Daisy," she requested sheepishly, a disgusted knife twisting in her belly. The pleased-as-punch house-elf arrived, ridiculously giddy to be of service yet again. Hermione winced as she formed her words in her mind. She had a manor house crawling with elves, they tripped over their pointy toes to assist her, and it still made her anxious to ask anything from them.

"Would you mind terribly, I mean, it would be very helpful if you could put together a dinner for Severus and myself. Something healthy perhaps?"

Daisy's eyes widened exponentially, as she clasped her hands and jumped for little house-elf joy before making a swift exit. Hermione was disgusted with herself. She didn't really have an excuse not to run out for take-away. It was something she could do for herself, but then it might be more stalling.

Throwing down her battered quill, Hermione stalked towards her bedroom, shedding stinky, rumpled robes en route. She had to psyche herself, buoy up the confidence to have the conversation they'd been putting off for far too long. Oh, she finally understood Severus. They enigmatic man had finally dropped the last curtains that hung around him, and she had the measure of the man.

He was willful, as always, but that did not mean he was right.

Try as she might, she couldn't see herself withered and infirm in her old age continuing to make the trek to the prison. Nor could she envision herself putting up with another year of this malarkey.

As the hot shower spray hit like needles across her body, pinking her flesh, Hermione determinedly set her jaw. She would not be married to a condemned man. She would allow neither herself nor him to languish and turn to dust. She would not permit herself to continue to live this partial existence. Severus _had_ to leave Azkaban. There just wasn't any other option.

Still dripping from the shower, Hermione pulled the first set of warm robes she found in her wardrobe and placed them around her methodically. Her mind had already shifted, drawn and focused into the battle that lay before her. She strapped her wand to her inner arm, and stepped into her Dragonhide boots. Her wet tousle of hair was yanked, twisted and pulled into a tight knot and secured. All she was missing was a Portkey to France and she was prepared exactly the same way as she had been on the eve of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Daisy appeared before her, muttering words of joyful exclamation interspersed with hateful epithets, completely loaded with steamy, fragrant packages. Hermione's stomach growled lightly, reminding her she really hadn't touched more than tea and toast, but it didn't garner much consideration.

The sound of her Dragonhide boots clacking on the floorboards gave her strength and purpose as she stalked towards the Apparition point.

* * *

Severus stiffened and set aside Gogol, as Hermione's footsteps announced her presence . The damned chit certainly had taken her precious time about returning. He had been hopeful for breakfast. Coffee, scones, a fresh newspaper, but then that was obviously not in the cards. Hermione had been on a tear for hours, and he steeled himself.

Her hair was still wet and it pulled her scalp back in a very unflattering way, but Severus held his tongue. It was best to save the invectives for the proper time, and he rather suspected it would be soon enough.

"I brought dinner," she said briskly with a hint of a smile in his direction before placing the spread out.

'Of course you did,' he responded in his mind. She always brought dinner. Though it appeared that she was fattening him up for the kill. The box of tarts alone could probably stop his heart, or at least his arteries.

Hermione grimaced and apologized. "I asked them for something healthy. I guess we have different ideas about what that means."

"Indeed," Severus quietly murmured as he spooned out a plate of roast beef for her. A quick glance towards the vile calendar clock duo revealed the time, and Severus wondered how long it would take before she finally said what was on her mind.

Dinner was slowly devoured in an agonizing way that did not help the food settle well in either of their stomachs. Conversation was polite and nearly non-existent, and Hermione hurried to tidy up afterward, casting preservation spells so he could enjoy the leftovers for later. There were enough leftovers to have him satisfied for days. Throughout dinner Hermione had continued to glance discretely at him from behind her lowered lashes. She wasn't very good at being discrete though, and Severus knew her eyes were trained on him.

Arranging himself comfortably in the plush leather armchair, Severus settled down and waited for the witch to speak. The shiny new calendar clock duo mocked the crawling passage of time in cheery red numbers. Hermione placed herself in front of him, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands nervously in her lap. Though it was obvious she was trying hard not to fidget, the fact that she found her fingers so damned interesting betrayed her nervousness.

Hermione steeled herself with a gulped breath and tried to remember her resolve. Some of the parchments with her bullet-point arguments were tucked into a pocket and she fought with her impulse to primly begin with the opening speech she had written. Another glance up from her lashes revealed Severus considering her with a slightly cocked head, so obviously he knew she wanted to address him with something important, and he was waiting patiently. Hermione decided to take it as a good sign and began with only a slightly quavering voice.

"Severus," she began with what she hoped was a conversational tone. Her strategy centered around a calm, rational discussion that neither provoked nor sounded preachy. "I'd like to reengage with you in a discussion of your... penance." There, she congratulated herself. That sounded fairly non-confrontational, well, about as non-confrontational as it was going to get. _Take emotion out of the equation,_ her Self-Help books had advised.

"My penance?" he sardonically asked with a wry smirk.

"Your choice to remain in Azkaban," she clarified. "Which is to say, um... I believe that penance, if that's what you truly seek, could be served anywhere."

"Perhaps," he accepted, tracing his thin lips with two thoughtful fingers.

Under other circumstances, Hermione might have found the unconscious gesture sexy, but at the moment she was more than a bit unnerved by it. He seemed to be deconstructing her; moreover, he seemed entirely unsurprised by the conversation. Well, she had just left him the night before to think about what he'd said. Hopefully he'd given his incarceration a lot more thought as well, and they could come to an accord, and he would come home with her without a fight and they could live happily ever after. And maybe she had a head wound, a lasting effect from an old hex... or a slow acting jinx... or maybe she was stalling again.

"Yes, well, I'm glad you're willing to consider it." Showering with praise was another good technique. _Emphasize where the middle ground or agreements, downplay disagreements and reach towards resolution,_ she reaffirmed. "If you're willing to accept that penance and acts of contrition can be performed anywhere, then perhaps you can discuss with me, um... performing them elsewhere. Say, at the Homestead? I have a list of very worthy causes that could really utilize your talents, and if you're not interested in those, well, maybe then we could work on an original project together?"

The tick in Severus' cheek was not reassuring.

Hermione steeled herself for a rebuttal, but none was forthcoming, so mentally she clicked over to the next item on her list. Droning on and on about worthy causes was not going to endear him to her, so it was time to switch tactics.

"And as for staying in Azkaban so that you won't injure others, I... I have a hard time believing that is true." His eyebrow lifted, but Severus remained silent, and Hermione's stomach took that moment to make a large burbling sound. No doubt she'd have indigestion and heartburn later on.

"Well, honestly, I can understand your willingness to assist me with my..." she grasped for a word that was appropriate and delicate, "...difficulties with Mr. Hopper. But I don't honestly believe you would have murdered him because he threatened a lawsuit. You just wouldn't have."

"Hm," he grunted noncommittally, and Hermione watched desperately for a sign she was on the right track. "You're familiar with my Sectumsempra," Severus announced slowly. "Do you honestly think that's the only curse I've invented? And you've seen how sweet that one is. It requires finesse and skill, and has none of the tackiness of an Entrails Expelling Curse. How does one go about crafting such a perfect curse, I wonder? Any thoughts, Hermione? Any at all?"

"Yes, well," Hermione fluttered her hands in a helpless gesture. "It's not like I expect you to run about the countryside eviscerating hapless townsfolk, Severus. You may have killed, but I don't believe you're truly a killer. If you were, you wouldn't care about keeping away from the public at all. You'd be out there...killing," she finished weakly.

Severus' eyes were closed and he laid his head back. She hadn't understood a word he'd said. The stupid bint still believed there was 'good' within him, and the Gods fucking help her if she fucking offered to give him a hug.

"You wouldn't, would you?" she questioned, this time a little less certain of her own self.

His eyelashes fluttered as Severus considered her words, and when he spoke again his voice sounded dry and choked. "No, I've put all that behind me Hermione. I'd only intervene on your behalf if you wished it. I no longer have any urge to hurt others... those days are behind me."

Whether proven innocent or not, Severus would have enjoyed wrenching the last breath from Black's body. Passing peacefully through a fucking shroud had not been what the mongrel deserved. Black had deserved to die screaming. But those urges for retribution no longer haunted him as they had before.

Of course there had been a time when it had been sweet. When he was young, stupid, and weak. The feeling of power and divinity that bloodshed gave him was a fleeting high that left him more wretched and miserable the next morning, but sometimes, sometimes, being a Death Eater wasn't all bad. It had been a feeling he hadn't relished, but it was also as satisfying in his belly as the addictive cream-like hallucinogenic potion he had once been chained to. The potion, like the blood lust, simply soured when it became too much.

"Then I hardly see why it's an issue that you remain here. Already a fan club of yours is petitioning the Wizengamot for your release. There's plenty of exonerating evidence that should clear your name. I propose that we do just that. Go home, start a life together. A real one. And as you want to continue on with your quest for whatever form of redemption you feel you need or whatever that means, well, we can work on that too." Hermione bit her lip for a moment and wondered if this were the right moment to announce she had deep feelings for him, bright-eyed dreams of waking up next to him every morning.

"Fuck the witches. I don't want those meddlesome harpies petitioning the Wizengamot."

"But it would help us to get you released sooner," she offered quickly.

"You're still operating on the premise that I want to be released."

Hermione's mouth flew open, aghast. "I thought we agreed! You could come home. You're not a threat to others." Her fingers scrabbled into the pockets of her robes reaching for the scraps of parchment. She needed a solid bullet-point, a good argument on why he needed to return with her. Hadn't she shown him all of his requirements could be satisfied at home, with her?

Reading the first heading underneath the Affective list Hermione took a fortifying breath and tried not to squirm. According to her research he should have a need to be needed, a want to be wanted.

Severus flicked a crumb from the bedcovering, "I don't recall making any concessions other than... how did you phrase it, 'running about the countryside eviscerating townsfolk?'"

Her well considered dispassionate arguments were getting her nowhere. Logic couldn't rule the heart's domain she belatedly realized.

"I want you home," she blurted. "I want you with me. I want to be your wife. I want us to be together, and I think, well, it won't always be perfect or easy, but I think what we'd have could be very special. Severus, I think we could make an honest go at having a real future together. The Homestead is perfect, it's ready and waiting for you to move in. I'm a horrid cook, you already know that, but the elves are very sweet. Foul-mouthed little beasties, but so dear. But they run the Homestead, so you could help me run Granger Industries, or do whatever projects you want. Headmistress McGonagall would probably trip over her tartan robes to get you back at Hogwarts if that's what you wanted..."

"Teaching does not appeal to me, Hermione, you should know this."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Yes, but what about any of the other suggestions? I mean, I really don't mind what you do," she said in an eager rush. "If you wanted to write more books or paint, or destroy more clocks, I'd support you - in whatever you wanted to do. I just want you home, with me."

Severus wasn't sure what else he had to say, he'd made it abundantly clear where his home was. "Hermione," he said impatiently, "Only children make wishes. And they pout when they don't get what they want. You are not a child - don't act like one."

"I'm not being childish!" Hermione declared. Her lower lip might have protruded just a bit, but she wasn't pouting.

"You signed up for this life, Hermione. It's what you asked for. You even wrote part of the Marriage Contract. I suggest you get used to it," Severus enumerated in a growling voice. "How many times and in how many combinations do I have to repeat myself before you'll get it through that thick bushy head of yours, I'm not leaving. I'm staying right where I am. I don't care if the Muggle Queen offers me a piggy back ride out of here; I don't want to leave!"

The red carpet leading out of the prison was practically rolled out before him - and he didn't want it?  
Hermione felt lightheaded and a bit more than dizzy as she gripped the foot board of the bed for strength and balance. She had opened herself up and confessed she _wanted_ him home with her - and they had all the ability to do so. Such confessions weren't easy for her to make. For all the bravery she wore as a mask, Hermione was deeply insecure and fearful of rejection.

She didn't want to fight about this. She wanted to go home...with her husband. And as he so adroitly pointed out, she had signed up for this for life. The visions she had spun in her head of a real life together, happy and in love, were fantasies of her self-delusion. Severus would grow ancient within the prison walls, and she'd be trapped alongside him forever. The carefully organized bullet points were useless. He didn't care one whit about her well planned research or therapeutic ideas, Severus was an immovable rock.

They truly were at an impasse.

"You said you'd consider leaving," she moaned weakly.

"I have considered it, and it's not something I'm interested in, not until I've completed my penance. Do not attempt to separate me from my penance," he whispered in a cold tone that pricked the skin on her arms up.

"Penance? You'll never leave!" She finally truly realized for the first time he'd never abandon his self-imposed penance. "You'll lie here and rotting and waiting for deliverance, and some sign of forgiveness that will never come. Even if your Olympian Gods descended and ordered you to get on with life, you'd probably think you're hallucinating. Severus Snape, you will never accept that you have paid your dues."

He'd never been forgiven before. Never once had anyone accepted his contrition, so he had nothing to which he could compare his struggle for redemption. He was blind and aimlessly attempting something he knew nothing about, because as far as Hermione was aware, Severus did not easily forgive others, so he had no idea how to forgive himself.

Menacing glittering eyes devoured her, held her in the moment, and Hermione's ragged breathing hitched. Perhaps she had crossed a line, but he had to understand. She _could not_ leave without securing her future, _their_ future.

"You made this bargain witch," he whispered. "Let's not forget, you approached me. I was the murdering Death Eater bastard not worthy of your time, unless you wanted something from me. Nothing has changed Hermione, I am still a murdering Death Eater bastard, and you're still using me to get what you want. How inconvenient for you that you've changed your mind. How terribly tragic that you fancy us together in some nightmarish vision of a life together. I've made my choice, and so have you. Live with the consequences of marrying me Hermione."

She felt trapped again, the walls of the prison closing in on her like a tomb, and she gripped the bed, digging her fingernails painfully into the grain of the wood. Severus needed so much. He needed real help and real redemption. He needed to feel forgiven, and that wasn't likely to happen shuttered away. Who was there to say 'thank you' to him? Nameless prisoners in another cell block, for not hording the bilge rats?

The only way for him to move forward was to move out.

The thought was clear, it shone like a beacon in her mind, and held hope like the green light at the end of Daisy's dock.

"You can leave here at any time Severus; we both know that the Wizengamot will release you," she said clearly, her eyes scrunched up and her wet lips feeling cold. "And...and if you don't leave... Azkaban, I will leave you. I cannot remain here. I cannot continue to do this. I'm sorry, but I can't. I admit I was self-deluded to think I could make it work. But... but I can't. There's no way I can endure another month of this, much less decades."

"That sounds a lot like an ultimatum, Hermione," He said tersely with fists clenched. "Are you certain you want to do that?"

Muggles made deals with handshakes and by giving their word. Wizards made oaths on their wands or to the death. An ultimatum wasn't the same as an oath. And Severus didn't have a wand to swear on either, but being placed in a corner galled him all the same. Hermione dared hit him with an ultimatum. He could strangle her for the suggestion.

Her Gryffindor courage was kicking into overdrive and Hermione barely hesitated, even as her stomach trembled. She was willing to throw everything on a roll of dice. But the odds were in her favor, and Hermione knew Severus wanted her - she couldn't lose. They hadn't gone through all of this together to walk away now. He was her husband, and she was his wife; the marriage of convenience had turned into a real relationship. He just needed this nudge to let go.

And it was time to end the status quo. They couldn't keep living half lives. She couldn't be married to a martyr. Saint Severus of Azkaban. Patron saint of lost Slytherin souls.

"Yes, I suppose I am. So what's it going to be Severus? Me or Azkaban?"

She held her breath.

Vixen. She had revealed herself finally to him. The angel of mercy, gift from the Gods for his devotion. Temptress, sent to lure him away as a test of his faith and piety. He knew. Her demands. The time had come for her to make false promises. Trade pleasures of the flesh and momentary gratification for an eternity in Hades. His Vixen had revealed herself, and Severus knew this was the test of his faith he'd been waiting for.

"You can leave any time Vixen, the door is there."

Hermione's knees nearly gave way. She shook upon the foundation of her legs and found the foot board of the bed was not nearly enough to keep her standing. She had lost, and she had lost him. Her Severus had chosen, and rejected her. She was numb and unable to fight the pain. 'No, no, no, no, no...' she repeated to herself. She must have misheard, must have misunderstood. Her Severus would not have tossed their marriage aside. He was supposed to choose her. They were supposed to live together and make their marriage work. Hermione wouldn't have made the ultimatum if she believed he would choose Azkaban. It was absurd. He loved her. Severus... had to love her.

"The door is there, Hermione. Don't come back," he repeated.

Severus was feeling a momentary triumph, and enjoyed her look of anguish. The way her knees and entire body trembled was satisfying to watch. He could destroy this girl, and in the cruel predatory recesses of his darkened heart, the part that took satisfaction in breaking others, Severus felt a thrill from her pain. Lily had made him tremble. Lily had wrenched his heart out with nary a second glance. The perverse joy of doing onto others made his spirit dance. He had promised himself he would not break her, but Hermione had set herself up for failure. She had offered him an ultimatum.

"I need you, Severus. You are my life, and my life's out there," she cried, aiming a flailing arm weakly out towards the unforgiving black sea. "Will you join me, then?"

"I clearly recall telling you to leave."

Her lungs gasped and panted for air, but she held still, trembling on the inside like a field mouse who knows he's been spotted by the hawk.

"Please, Severus, we could be so happy," her voice cracked.

He studied her intently, but gave nothing. Nothing, not the twitch of his lips or crinkling of his eyes betrayed in the slightest his mind on the matter, and Hermione felt cold seep under her skin.

"Please," she begged again, the hurt pleading rising with her pitch. He had to understand. The cold taciturn man was the hope and light in her chest. Without Severus she was so alone. He couldn't imprison her here with him, this was not a life by any definition. He _had_ to join her. He couldn't send her away. Hermione dizzily realized he wasn't sending her away for now. He was sending her away for always. It was either her or Azkaban, and she hollowly realized she was being dismissed from his life.

"You expect me to compromise who I am and what I believe. You would have me betray my principles because you've finally realized this sham of half a marriage does not suit your needs," he said in clipped tones.

"No," she hastened. That wasn't it. Not at all. _Their_ needs. _They_ needed to be together. _They_ belonged together. She was finally ready to open her heart to him, confess the L-word she harbored for him, but Hermione could never utter those dangerous three words. He'd crush her. Laugh at her stupidity. Any last ditch attempt at reconciliation died when he cut her off.

"Oh, so you would have me betray my principles for your new fantasies and grand delusions of some sunny happy life. You see us brewing potions together and inventing new products at the Homestead. Let me guess, and maybe some dark curly-headed children pattering about. Isn't that what you want? It is. I can read it all plainly in your eyes. Wake up Hermione; children don't make for a happy marriage. Children can't make you happy. They make a bad marriage worse. Spare me your simple minded delusions. They turn my stomach."

"I just want us to be happy," she whispered, her mind still belatedly processing the fact that he had chosen Azkaban over her. He had chosen to eject her from his life.

"I am happy, you selfish twat!" he roared. "I have everything I could possibly want within these four walls, except for some fucking peace and quiet. And I can't make you happy. The only person who is responsible for your happiness is you."

"Peace and quiet," she repeated stunned. The words seemed strange and foreign in her ears and had to be sounded out, tried on her lips as the concept trickled through her consciousness. He wanted her out. She wanted… everything. Everything he had enumerated before callously casting her dreams aside, calling them delusions. Rejecting her hopes and plans for the future, rejecting her.

"Go away, Hermione. I have no patience for your dramatics, and so help me, if you begin to tear up…"

"You'll what?" Hermione asked with a trembling lip.

Severus was silent.

"You'll what, Severus? What more can you do to me that you haven't already just done? Why don't you tell me some more about how unwanted I am? Get it off your chest and finish the job so I can leave you to your peace and quiet and never return."

"Why would I want to do that," he sneered, "to feed your perverse sense of victimization? Don't provoke me, Hermione. I know you want me to play the bad guy to justify the horrible things you'll no doubt say about me to all your sympathetic little friends."

He sighed, bone weary and drained. "I'm not the bad guy, Hermione. I'm just not the guy you want me to be. Now leave me to my solitude." His hand raised dismissively as he lay back on top of the bed, spindly pale fingers rubbing the bridge between his eyebrows.

"I'll go," she whispered, gathering the tatters of her self-respect around her as if it could protect her from the cold shivers wracking her frame.

The wards on his door shimmered and Hermione left quietly. Balling up on himself Severus wrapped his arms around his knees and listened to her familiar footfalls echo down his corridor as she trudged away. He could even hear her leaning heavily against the stone walls for support, gasping for breath - trying to hold herself together and not wail, as she walked out of his life.

With any luck, Severus fiercely hoped, she'd come to her senses in a few days, and shower him with affection and curry take-away. He comforted himself that he'd bought a few more months of silence before she took to nagging again.

* * *

Hermione Apparated only once, and scrambled for breath. Her shaky fingers reached out to grip the carved back of the weathered Victorian sofa to steady her. Apparating across the UK to Azkaban was tasking on the body and lungs, so Hermione made the trip in segments. But this time she'd done only one jump, her mind latched onto a single place of comfort. Her wobbly knees gave out and she sank painfully onto the thin dusty rug. Panting great heaving breaths of dry moldy air, Hermione sat dumbfounded, her heart beating erratically in her chest.

She couldn't fucking breathe. She curled up on herself, pushing her head between her knees instinctively and without thought. Her skin prickled up with gooseflesh as she shuddered. For a moment she ordered herself, _get a grip. Get off the floor. Finish the Apparation. Go home. Deal with it later._

A loud keening wail split the air in the dark Black library, dismissing all thought to the contrary as she curled further up on herself, mixing her thick salty tears with the accumulated dirt of the abandoned house. Her abandoned world.

Hermione wept, her heartache pushing out her chest as she surrounded herself with the misery of knowing that Severus had made his choice and it wasn't her. He preferred his cold cell to the warmth of her love. Her heart meant nothing to him.

She was means to an end, the bringer of beer and pizza. She was the witch who spread her thighs and opened her mouth to welcome his cock, but not to love. She felt so meaningless. And Hermione knew she had deluded herself into thinking that she mattered to him.

She laid on the floor growing stiff and cold, her runaway thoughts mocking her for playing the fool. Memories of their time together twisted in her head as she relived them in pain, not looking back in fondness, but dwelling on how cruel and manipulative he'd been to string her along. Severus Snape, the snake in the grass, had struck.

Once the hysterical sobbing subsided and Hermione sniffled to clear her nose and look at how far she'd been reduced, she slowly raised herself. Her neck and shoulders protested as they lengthened and straightened out, but gripping the furniture for strength, she hobbled to the fireplace. She upturned the Floo powder box and shook the last pinch from the bottom before sinking to her knees before the grate.

From her hand she poured the fine dust onto the coals, watching as they weakly sparked green in the absence of a fire, calling out, "Kingsley Shacklebolt's residence" before pushing her head through.

It took nearly ten minutes of yelling herself hoarse before Kingsley appeared, running towards the Floo, his bedjacket hastily pulled on and hanging open, but his wand was drawn and his eyes were scanning for trouble. Hermione swallowed thickly and briefly thanked her lucky stars that the former Order Headquarters was still privately connected to his residence.

"Hermione? What's wrong? What's going on," he rapidly questioned, Kingsley's Auror intuition coming to the fore.

"I need help," she panted desperately. "I need a divorce."

* * *

Fuck.

He'd run her off.

What had he been thinking? Clearly he hadn't.

Shit.

He probably would have to apologize for real this time.

Hours later she arrived at the Homestead. And through the wards Severus felt her heartache. The pain in his  
chest doubled up. He'd anticipated a weepy, miserable witch, but not this. Had he been so cruel? Surely she knew... she had to know... he didn't _actually_ want her gone forever - not really.

All he wanted was an end to the childishness. Hermione was... well, she was currently the lacing pain in his chest, but she was...everything.

He cursed himself for rising to the bait of her ultimatum.

She had to know he wanted her.

She had to return. Hermione couldn't be gone forever.

As his coal-dusted lashes closed, his last coherent thought was whether he'd ever hear her footfalls in his corridor again.

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter title: Vos Vestros Servate, Meos Mihi Linquite Mores - You cling to your own ways and leave mine to me. (Petrarch)

Several people need to be thanked. This chapter has held up most of the fic because it needed to be 'perfect.' The dynamic duo of Christev20 and mischevious_t have helped get it sorted to rights, and for that I am grateful to them both. And I've possibly been cajoled into creating a chain smoking house-elf named Tink for mischevious...

The magnificent Hypnobarb coined the phrase Saint Severus of Azkaban, Patron Martyr Saint of Slytherin, and for that I will be forever grateful. Thank you love!

And thank you to all the readers who've kept with the fic even as it's switched to 1x/week posting. Your loyalty, love, and support makes me squee like a teenage fangurrrl. Hugs, hankies, and chocolate for everyone. -AV


	49. Chapter 49

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 49 - Ira Furor Brevis Est**

If Severus was worried that he'd never hear the precise tapping of Hermione's sensible shoes in his corridor again he was quite mistaken. She woke him early the next morning looking refreshed and resolute, her untamed hair pulled back tight against her scalp and wrangled into a horrid bun. And she wore a positively dreadful business frock. He hoped for her sake and the future of her company it wasn't the sort of suit she wore to meetings, but suspected it was.

"I don't know where your cot is," she began primly, without a proper greeting. "It wasn't something I thought about when I got rid of it, but Billy assures me he'll have a new one installed today."

"Pardon?"

"Cot," she enunciated, roundly pronouncing the 'O's as she was wont to do. The single syllable word hung between them as Severus blinked.

Her wand was out within seconds and Severus' eyes widened as she pointed it at his things. He stood dumbly as she reduced books, knick-knacks and articles of clothing, sending them tumbling back into the expandable white boxes. Hermione was rapid in her movements and entirely proficient.

"You're leaving," Severus said dumbly.

"I'm giving you your penance back. This place isn't suitable for a proper penance."

"You're trying to hurt me because I refused to join you?"

"No, I'm moving on because I refuse to live like this anymore. I suppose you can interpret this as a petty act of hurting you, but it's not meant to be. You were right: we're not suited and this marriage won't work. You were right: I'm an idiot and self-deluded. You were right. And I'm giving you what you want. You can have all the fucking peace and quiet you crave. Satisfied?"

She wasn't thinking straight. No, certainly not at all. She felt small and burned out inside, and it gave her a need to consume everything around her. The itch to break and damage whatever was in reach was real and she tasted her own blood on her lip. Peace and quiet? If he wanted peace and quiet she'd give him so much of it she hoped he'd choke on it.

Foolish, stupid, infantile fantasies of children and a happy domestic home life. What had she been thinking? Stupidly, she had let down her guard, turned her back on a fucking Death Eater who probably would not hesitate to Avada her.

Severus believed in an unmerciful God. A wrathful and vengeful God who 'smote' lots of things, and damned if she didn't hope he got all the hellfire and brimstone he had coming to him.

"You're divorcing me?" Severus whispered.

"No, of course not. I'm having the marriage annulled. You should be free of me no later than close of business tomorrow."

"How?" he choked.

"Remarkably easy. Kingsley is appealing our marriage right now on the grounds that it's never been consummated. The kiss that sealed our contract was symbolic and ceremonial, but not legally binding. I'll thank you for pointing out that legal avenue to me. I've been assured that once the committee reviews the terms of your incarceration they'll destroy our marriage contract and license like it never even happened."

Last night's panic-fueled Floo call to Kingsley was met with assurances that he would do all he could to make the process as simple and painless as possible for her. When she had asked for a divorce, Kingsley regretfully informed her that it was impossible. When Hermione asked about the potential of an annulment, citing an unconsummated marriage, he informed her she was in luck. Although she conveniently forgot to mention their one failed attempt at intercourse - one case of limp dick did not a marriage make. How fortuitous, indeed. And since they hadn't finalized the union, the binding charms that held her Full Fidelity Charm together had never taken effect. Hermione was completely free. Had she wanted to fuck Donald Browne, or any wizard in her path, Hermione could have done so at any time. It was liberating.

As a personal favor, he was also arguing that she was unaware of the terms of the incarceration at the time she was married and begging for leniency on her behalf. Kingsley didn't expect they'd prosecute her for the so-called blunder, mostly because the understaffed and over-tasked sub-department that governed the Marriage Act was up to its gills in work and howlers. And the Wizengamot had stopped ruling on anything to do with the Marriage Act, as they were in the middle of examining whether it was actually constitutional. Still, she had the distinct feeling that the Ministry stooge who'd been sent to approve their marriage would likely get fired.

"But you'll be in the same position, Hermione. The Ministry will force you to marry."

"Then I'll just have to suck it up and deal with whatever the Ministry decides."

"But that's not…"

"What? Fair?" Hermione rounded on him, the lines around her mouth as tight as her words. "Please don't lecture me on what is and is not fair, Severus Snape."

He stared at her, his mind processing the rigid lines of her features and demeanor. There was no softness to be had, only sharp angles and bitterness. Her unyielding brown eyes also held a slight glossiness, and for the first time in months Severus honestly feared she'd gone back to 'Liquid Sunshine.' In fact, he was willing to stake his last Galleon on it, and it kicked the wind out of his lungs.

So he watched in muted horror as she turned back to her chore of mopping up his life and placing all of it in little white cartons. Even the stupid Slinky disappeared into its container. Golden paint evaporated from the walls, revealing blackening stone. She didn't rip the robes off his back, but a calculating glimmer in her eye showed she considered it.

He ground one fist into his palm concealing the thin circle of gold that sat upon the third digit. Surely, she wouldn't take that, too?

It didn't take long to reduce his world with Hermione's efficient wand strokes. And had they been speaking under better terms he would have jokingly taunted her for showing off.

Severus spoke up, "I wasn't going to say fair, I was going to say, 'that wasn't what I wanted.'" He met her gaze steadily but feeling quite tipped over inside. "You don't have to leave, not like this, Hermione," he begged. "I may have acted inconsiderately, and perhaps foolishly, but aren't you being a bit impulsive? I don't recall asking for a ...divorce." The word curdled sour on his lips. "Annulment," he bitterly amended. "Take a moment to think about this, please."

He waited for her to respond; that was how conversations worked, but Hermione was nearly finished, and she hadn't come for conversation. She came to burn and destroy.

Hermione's lips were pressed in a tight disapproving scowl that she must have picked up from Minerva. With a final pass of her eyes around the near barren room, Hermione nodded to herself, satisfied with her work, and pocketed a dozen miniaturized boxes. She paused briefly upon exiting, and Severus held his breath for her parting shot, but she only aimed her wand at his plush leather armchair and it fell to the floor as an old wash rag.

Pivoting quickly, Hermione left him in empty silence slumped against the wall where their bed once stood.

Severus' eyes traced over the pattern of stones he had counted an infinite number of times over the years. His gaze roved blankly over the space, as he tried with limited success to blot out all thoughts. He had spent years numbly looking at that wall making shapes out of the uneven bricks. Obviously there was a daisy as plain as day stamped in the center of the wall. And if he stood in the corner the daisy shifted into the shape of distended lark entrails before it was minced and prepared for burn paste. And sometimes if he was crossing his eyes slightly it looked like… nothing.

Later as the sun set, Billy silently shuffled in and installed a cot, so Severus scooted over, but found he had neither the energy nor the will to get up.

* * *

She paced. She'd been pacing all night.

She couldn't think. She needed a level head for this and she couldn't fucking think. The initial hurt had been replaced with anger. Anger had driven her to Floo the Minister, calling in a personal favor from Shacklebolt, which she hated doing. She hated the idea that if she wanted to swing power, she could. It nauseated her that individuals with prestige had the ability to make demands average citizens did not have the ability to voice. But needs must be met, and during last night's frantic fire call, she was willing to pull with whatever political capital she still had. It also helped that Kingsley couldn't handle sobbing witches.

The fire was still cold in the hearth, and so was she. Whatever pang of remorse she felt when she had discarded their marriage had to go away, because she couldn't afford it now. Her marriage was annulled. Like it had never happened, and she needed to keep moving onward. If she stopped for a moment to second-guess herself or regret her choice, she'd be the bigger fool. And Severus would never take her back. Hermione collapsed into the fluffy large bed in the Master's chambers that were no longer hers. How long could she stay before she was evicted? Hermione would not speculate about Severus' mind on the matter. It was best if she left quickly and be done with it.

The pillowy bed was always soft and cloud-like. It made burrowing into the layers of sheets such a comfort. Once she had wondered if the elves made beds just that way because it resembled their fluffy woolen nests. She inhaled the calming lilac scent the elves had taken to washing all of her linens in since moving to the Homestead. No, the bed was one of the small ways they expressed their love and devotion to the child of mud and filth. Hermione felt the name apt. She was a child of mud and filth, but she'd be damned if she turned her ship around. Wallowing in self pity could come later. Now she had to muster the energy to get up and get on with things.

Her energy drained, Hermione reached for the hurt, the scorched earth inside her heart, and blew at the embers. He had rejected her. It was fucking Potions class all over again. He had an entire population of fawning witches screaming for his release. Several witches had tried to break into Azkaban, and he wouldn't leave because he'd then be married to her. Hermione remembered that sneer vividly. 'Hold on to that,' she whispered to herself. She knew if she could remember the look of revulsion and disgust he wore while saying those vile hurtful things she'd never regret her decision. Severus loathed her, of that she had no doubt.

He wanted her to reconsider, but spared no words of kindness or affection to her, only remorse that she was leaving. Selfish. He was probably only concerned with where his next meal of beer and pizza would come from. And if he was shocked or upset, it was likely because he wanted to keep that damned Slinky. Poor Severus. Poor Azkaban prisoner. Such a pity that a Death Eater had to serve a life sentence in the same manner as everyone else. She bet the short-term inmates that feasted on bilge rats and the big-titted witches clamoring for his immediate release sympathized with him. What would the other prisoners on his cell block say about that? Oh that's right, they were all Kissed.

"You had a good thing," Hermione said aloud in a breaking voice. "You had a good thing, Severus Snape, and you blew it. All because you couldn't bear the thought of fathering our children."

She violently swiped at a tear trickling down her face, but she couldn't bother with that. The anger was building again and this was a rage she could use. She needed it. She knew she needed the rage to fuel what she was about to do.

"Daisy, you are summoned."

Daisy arrived instantly with a small thunderclap of sound. Sensing her Mistress' conflict, Daisy nervously wrung her new pink gingham apron her Mistress had given all the girls.

Mistress Hermione, whore who lies with beasts, had demanded that they trade their ill-fitting and stained tea towels and cloth nappies for the smart looking aprons. They were not a gift of clothes. They were a trade. Hermione had learned well a thing or two from S.P.E.W.

Daisy clutched the gingham in her fists, trembling as she felt the overwhelming waves of hatred roll off the Mistress. The blessedly beautiful House of Prince had often let this hatred build up in their hearts. Those were scary times when little elf fingers had been lost. Daisy bowed lowly on shaking knees.

"Gather up everyone," Hermione snapped. "I need all hands on deck to dismantle the labs and production line. Have the young elfkins start on my personal items. I want to be out of here within the day."

Daisy nodded vigorously and Disapparated. Hermione bit the insides of her cheeks. This anger wasn't entirely what she needed. Something was missing. Clarity of thought? Rest for the turbulent mind? Her emotions lulled and pitched like a raft caught up in a waterspout. She needed something more to feel than only the pain. Something that would take her into the calm center of the storm.

Her decision was made in a mere moment. She just needed this once more. One more dosage to get through the day. After this she could deal with the consequences. Her feet led her to the bathroom vanity and she pulled the amber-hued vial of momentary salvation out of the medicine cabinet. She just needed this one. Just today. And it wasn't as if Severus was there any longer to tell her 'no.'

'Lord, let me make it through this day,' she chanted as she tipped the Liquid Sunshine back.

It was sweet going down as it settled in the pit of her empty stomach. Warmth emanated out, tingling her fingers and toes. Hermione smiled as she opened her eyes to a bright and sunny day. It was as if all the cold and ugliness had been chased away. So good.

Confidently, she knew she could accomplish her task and set to it. With the detachment of someone looking at her situation from a distant perspective, this was easy. She was just moving out. People moved on with their lives all the time. This was a good thing indeed. Maybe the elves could be convinced to sing along and make it into a game.

First, she just needed to make a list. A list would set everything to rights. With proper planning, anything could be achieved. Archimedes had once remarked, "Give me a lever big enough and I can move the world." Hermione fully believed with a well thought out list, she could do the same.

- She needed to bring the moving wizards back. They were fast and efficient last time, and the elves would need help. Hermione would not stay a moment longer than she needed.

- Shelter for the evening was a must. After that... she could worry about such trivialities later.

- A storage unit for her lab needed procuring. Even her Holds-All satchel wouldn't carry the entire lab.

- Letters and checks for her employees needed to be drafted. It was impersonal to do by owl, but there was no helping that. She needed to kindly thank them for their service and devotion to the company, but Granger Industries was folding. There was no way she could go to work the next morning, or the morning after that, or ever.

- Mr. Tattings would have to break contracts with suppliers and distributors.

The penalties would be heavy, but Hermione couldn't think on such things, and she couldn't be arsed to care. It was only money. And her business? Deep inside Hermione knew that the way she had spent herself so entirely on her business had put her on the path to wreck and ruin. Every terrible desperate choice she had made had always been with Granger Industries in mind. And what did she have to show for it? Money. When Hermione had tinkered around in the back of Arthur's shed, looking for a way to tame her atrocious hair, her success hadn't been about money. Her passion had never been about money, and it was a poor balm for her sacrifice. Hermione paused for a moment of self reflection and wondered how the hell she had gotten here. She didn't recognize herself, and she had no idea where 'here' was.

* * *

Severus was still motionless on the floor, his butt completely frozen and asleep, with discordant thoughts circling like buzzards around his head, when Hermione achieved her coup de gras. The wards to the Homestead dropped. He felt her in his very marrow as she savagely tore into the home without mercy, he felt the collective wail of piteous house elves as they scurried in her wake, and he shuddered as the marching army of packers pillaged.

The pain was indescribable. Nothing. Absolutely nothing had ever prepared him for this sort of pain. Lily stung. Decades later losing Lily still felt like a bruised limb that he needed to cradle and nurse. The wretched sharp tang of losing his _wife_ was agony.

The soul sickening guilt of feeling her hurt as his own through the Homestead's wards made the dull ache of Lily feel _juvenile_ in comparison. His loss was total. And he was responsible for pushing her away.

* * *

Crooks hissed and batted at Huey. He wasn't getting into the cat carrier. It had taken ages to find the pansy-nosed Tom; he was the last item left to be packed away. And he wasn't happy to be found.

The old Homestead had delicious field mice. Succulent rabbits peacefully chewed on clover on the Green, unaware of the danger from the skilled ginger warrior that stalked them. Baby birds of all kinds flitted around the distant tree line, learning to fly on uncertain wings. And arrogantly colorful songbirds chased each other across the field, not realizing they were a paw-swipe away from death. It was only his good humor that allowed the faster birds to fly freely. Though at any point he could kill them. If he wanted to.

But not all was well in his Manor house. His familiar was acting spectacularly stupidly. If she just waited for evening he'd sit on top of her chest and knead her with his paws until she calmed. He'd even allow her to pet him.

Throwing him into a blasted cat carrier to destinations unknown was not a good idea. Especially when she smelled of that _stuff._ It made her go all squirrel-brained and hare-footed. Crooks was having none of it and told his familiar so. Then she Stunned him.

She had never done that. Threatened him, yes. Stunned him, no. Into the cat carrier he was dropped, falling and landing painfully on the base of his tail. There was a reason why Kneazles always landed on their feet. Stubbing a tail hurt.

That was it.

The yellow-eyed monster of birdy doom fumed silently. No more field mice left in her bed after this. He wasn't in the mood to share any more. She could catch her own. The cat carrier jostled, sending the immobile cat into a wall.

'Insult me?' Crooks fumed. 'Don't think this won't go unpunished; I will start marking again!' he warned. 'And I'm already working on the mother-of-all hairballs. It will be my finest achievement yet. You'll find it in your favorite paw covers, familiar!'

If she thought she could get away with this abuse of one's person, she was sorely mistaken.

Hours later as the spell had worn off, Crooks sat on his front paws like the Half-Kneazle and Half-Familiar Sphinx of his forbearers. He was flicking his tale and hungry for ankle, when she finally remembered him.

"Hey Crooksy," she cooed reaching a finger through the metal grate to stroke him. Crooks ignored the cheap attempt to make amends. Nothing short of Horntail pate would supplicate him. "We're staying at Parvati's house for a few days, but her cat Lola hasn't been fixed either, so you've got to stay out of the house. Parvati will kill me if you impregnate her familiar."

'Damn!' Crooks swore. 'Chased out of the house and cut off from pussy.'

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter title: Ira furor brevis est - Anger is a brief insanity. (Horace)

Tequila, salt, and limes to Christev20 for her uber-beta skills. She deserves it, especially with these past chapters and the upcoming ones.

Big love and happiness to my readers. You're the best. And wow, so many reviews! Thank you. AV


	50. Chapter 50

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 50 - Aegri Somnia**

Parvati towered over her imperiously, her lips in a pout and her nose slightly wrinkled.

"Geez, Hermione, are you going to get up today?" Parvati's voice reflected her waning sympathy as she looked at her friend, wrapped up in blankets with only her bushy head peeking out.

"My front yard is littered with owls. They're not going away until you take delivery. Do you think you could possibly manage to drag yourself into the vertical position? My neighbors are complaining, and I've got bird shit all over my porch. And let me not forget, you've got these phone messages. Makes me damn unhappy I got a phone in the first place." Parvati threw at least three dozen slips of paper in the air like confetti.

Hermione mumbled something indistinct into the fluffy duvet in response. Not having the time or inclination to mother a grown witch, Parvati left for work with a dramatic swish of lime green robes.

Some time in the late afternoon, four o'clock, if she had to guess, Hermione managed to stumble out of bed. Hunger propelled her forward. She found Niles in the kitchen staring aimlessly at a soft boiled egg in his egg cup. Hermione frowned before turning to the larder to find herself a slice of pie, some turkey breast, a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, and half a bunch of red grapes. When she returned, Niles was still looking at his… lunch?

Hermione automatically spied the problem, retrieved his dentures, cracked the egg with the back of a spoon and watched the ancient wizard dig in with all the vigor of a child at Fortescue's. Together they munched in silence. Hermione found the crisps were stale, and Niles found most of the egg collected on his beard.

"Come here," Hermione whispered, gently sweeping a wet flannel across his wrinkled lips. "Well," she said loudly, to herself more than anyone, "What are we going to do now? Parvati will be home in another hour. We probably should make it look like we were productive today."

Just then Niles loudly broke wind and blinked several times.

Twenty seconds later the stench reached her, and she covered her nose in alarm . "Good idea," Hermione choked, "a shower sounds perfect."

Hastily, she made her escape.

Parvati had mentioned something about her smelling ripe. Shutting herself firmly in the guest bathroom, Hermione turned on the tap in the shower cabinet and only turned towards the sink once the mirror had fogged over. She slumped over inside the shower. Niles could have been her husband. Had she thought of it, she could have married as Parvati had. The geriatric wizard was probably listed as 'able to breed' by the Ministry, but Hermione doubted his little soldiers could muster or march. It appeared the ceremonial kiss helped many couples other than herself.

That's exactly what she should have done.

What she should do.

She was still at the mercy of the Ministry.

She was still required to find a husband. Why on earth had she ever thought that Severus Snape was an acceptable solution? She was stupid. Stupid, foolishly silly little know-it-all chit who had to be so fucking special. She just had to prove to the Ministry that she could beat them at their own game. She should have just shut up and colored in the lines, chosen a Ministry-approved asshole and accepted her fate. Some old wizard with one foot in the grave had to be better than Severus Snape.

Hermione doubled over and sat on the floor allowing the hot stinging shower rain on top of her, not caring how pink her skin became.

She pulled herself out when the hot water ran out, and since Hermione couldn't remain locked away in the shower cabinet shivering forever, she dragged herself out to face a seriously pissed-off Parvati.

"You didn't answer the mail," she said flatly.

"I know. I meant to."

"If your distributors come to the house, I'm going to hand you over to them and they can deal with you."

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut. She couldn't deal with them on a good day. Now she couldn't find the energy to give a damn.

Parvati cleared her throat. "Actually, I want you out by the end of the week." She held up a bright yellow ticket that Hermione instantly recognized as a Ministry citation. "Go answer your post."

Hermione trudged towards the front door like a hangman to a noose. Peaking outside the door she shut it quickly.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!"

There had to be three hundred fucking owls hopping about the yard. Two days into Hermione's stay, Parvati had placed anti-owl wards on her windows out of necessity. She was kind enough to accept mail and Howlers on Hermione's behalf for the first forty odd owls before putting her foot down. Besides, most owls were given explicit instructions to only deliver to Hermione.

Hermione took a deep breath and darted outside. She shivered instantly. Summer was at its last dregs and Autumn was impatiently coming early. Autumn. She had been married at the end of Autumn, but before the leaves had gone brown and crispy from Winter's murdering touch. The wizarding street was lined with trees in green, orange, and golden splendor. A year. She would have been married to Severus Snape a year.

Her thin grey sweats felt insubstantial to the chill. The owls, spotting their prey, descended.

Two hours later a scratched and dented Hermione returned inside, her arms laden with packages, letters and bills. Her fingers singed by aggressive Howlers. And her hair decorated in feathers.

"I checked the post," she announced needlessly.

"So I see. I still want you moved out by the end of the week, Hermione. You can't stay here. It's not healthy for you and I think you're starting to scare Niles."

Hermione bit back a snort. "Really, how can you tell?"

Parvati glared at her before picking up her fine evening cloak. "You don't have to stay here tonight," she warned, picking up her thin beaded clutch. "I'm out," she declared. "I have a date. Don't wait up. Oh, and should you really do something with your hair; I have a bottle of _Good Hair Day_ around here someplace."

She found Niles sitting naked in the living room chewing on the end of his beard. Dear God, she needed her husband. Damn that man. Why? Why had he rejected her? Why? Why had she pushed him to join her? Couldn't she respect his wishes? His faith? God, she was so fucking alone.

Desolate, Hermione covered herself in the duvet and blotted everything out but her misery.

* * *

"Hey Professor. How are you feeling today?"

Severus blinked twice and turned towards the voice, his neck popping at the movement. His deadened dark eyes took in the sparkling and feminine eyes of Billy Mulciber before turning back to the abstract pattern on the stone wall.

Brown eyes. He was only interested in brown eyes today.

Severus nearly choked out a half-hearted 'Go away,' but hadn't the care to do so.

"I was reading again, Professor," Billy merrily continued. "It was this fellow Whitman. Not really much of a storyteller, but real pretty words that make you think peaceful thoughts," he supplied. "I suspect you'd like him."

Severus' heavy eyelids fell, but Billy knew he was awake. The Professor hadn't been sleeping either. Unless he could sleep sitting straight up with his eyes wide open.

"I'm done with it, and I bet Ginny wouldn't mind if you borrow it. I actually borrowed it from her. She doesn't have lots of Muggle books like you like, but she does have a lot of books. Uh, Sir… if there's a title you're interested in, I betcha we can get it for you." Billy scratched the back of his neck and waited, examining closely for signs of life and finding none. He opened the cell door and came a foot away from the  
catatonic man.

"Well, I'll just leave the book here for you, in case you change your mind. Um, Hermione wrote a dedication on the title page."

As he shut and re-warded the cell door, he watched the haunted wizard trace a finger over her precise curly handwriting and shook his head. He needed to do something about the Professor and fast.

Warden Blotts had the only Floo connection in Azkaban, and it was only supposed to be used for emergencies. When Billy Mulciber gently knocked on his boss' door, it was with that thought in mind. The whey-faced thin wizard behind the desk looked like a boy who had tugged on his father's robes and decided to play dress up for the day. Billy hated to bother Warden Blotts. It always made him feel twitchy, like he'd done something wrong,  
but had no clue what.

"What is it, Security Specialist Mulciber?"

Billy shuffled from foot to foot looking intently at his shoelaces. Ginny was brave and had nerve. Billy had learned long ago that risks were to be calculated and measured. Slytherin House had a way of sucking bold courage out of some of its members. He drew on Ginny's spirit as a source of encouragement to speak up.

"It's Prisoner 11652, Sir."

"Oh?" Warden Blotts said impassively. "Well, tell him he can't use Azkaban resources to reply to his damned fan mail."

He wasn't keen on helping the prisoner with much of anything, given the headache he was putting him through. The entire situation though was rapidly spinning out of hand. For the first time in Azkaban's long and infamous history, witches were attempting to break into the fortress, not out. Warden Blotts was utterly confused as to why anyone would behave in such a manner, especially for Prisoner 11652. Had they any idea how much work they were creating for him?

It was thoroughly inconsiderate, and he dearly hoped it would all go away, but as the days and weeks dragged on, the inventiveness of desperate witches and a few very odd wizards grew along with their numbers. Prisoner 11652 had appalling groupies. He had heard a rumor that they were appealing his case to the Wizengamot for retrial, and were circulating petitions on the prisoner's behalf.

"It's not that, Sir."

The warden was silent and Billy felt buoyed to continue with his mission, "The prisoner isn't eating, Sir. Well, he isn't doing much of anything, really."

"Sounds like a model inmate then. Offer him our congratulations on taking the righteous road to rehabilitation, but make sure he understands we cannot testify at parole hearings. Not that he qualifies for a parole hearing, but still, let him know that he won't earn any perks for it. That sort of thing isn't in the budget."

Billy was ready to give up when the low fire behind the warden's desk shot a gleaming red and gold ember, and he remembered his purpose. The warden was already dismissing him when Billy spoke up again hearing the strengthening conviction in his own voice.

"Sir, I'd like to request the use of the Floo connection to contact his Guardian."

"Miss Granger is no longer his Guardian."

Billy shrugged, "Paperwork hasn't been updated. According to my roster, she is." Score ten points for Slytherin House.

Warden Blotts sighed deeply as if it were a great personal cost to himself to make the Floo call.

"Do it, but if she won't take responsibility for him, then let it go."

"Yes Sir!" Billy nodded, heartened. He hated that the Professor and Ms. Hermione had dissolved their marriage. It didn't sit well with him at all, and not just because he missed her visits. They were well matched for each other. Any wizard could see it plain as day.

It took a bit of doing to track the enigmatic witch down, and the warden watched every granule of Floo powder slip through Billy's fingers like a goblin counting stacks of gold, but he found her through the Hogwarts' alumni grapevine at Parvati's house.

"Ms. Hermione," Billy called as he reached head and shoulders through, nearly stretching himself completely to see her seated at a dining table hunched over stacks of yellowing parchment.

"Billy?" Hermione gasped. He wondered why she always looked so flummoxed every time he Floo called, like she never expected him to call her. Who'd she think it would be, Bono?

"Yeah, Ma'am. Look, I need you to come down to Azkaban. The Professor is in a bad way."

"I can't," she remarked dryly, walking over to the fireplace.

Even through the hot glaze of the Floo connection, he could plainly see she wasn't in much better shape than the Professor. Hermione's face was pink and puffy and she had the look of someone who only just dragged themselves from bed, but there were dark smudges under her eyes that looked like cried-out mascara. But no, he could tell she hadn't slept in a long while. Someone needed to fix this.

"Ms. Hermione, he's not eating."

"So?" she questioned blankly.

"He's not doing anything. He's miserable."

Hermione blinked, not understanding.

"Ms. Hermione, he looks like he's been _Kissed_. He can't keep this up. I'm so afraid he's going to kill himself or starve himself to death. I've seen it before, you know."

"I fail to see how this is my concern."

Warden Blotts cleared his throat and spoke up, "That's enough now, Mulciber. Let the Miss go."

"Ms. Hermione," he pleaded. "You don't want him to be miserable, do you?"

"What about me, Billy?" she whispered before closing the Floo connection on him.

"That's it, Mulciber, you heard the witch. Let the prisoner be. If he dies, we can move one of the bilge-level prisoners up. That's the most well-kept cell we have. The sink doesn't back up. My sink doesn't even do that."

Billy Mulciber stumbled out of the warden's office, shaking his head. He didn't understand any of it, mumbling, "She looks like right shit," under his breath.

Just as quickly as Security Specialist Mulciber left, Warden Blotts re-warded the Floo, banning outsiders. Just as soon as he was done, the fireplace sparked green with a thwarted incoming call. As the fireplace sparked green a second time, he opened his desk drawer, now filled with bottles of wine and spirits from the Prisoner 11652's gift packages. He selected a nice homemade scuppernog and poured a healthy measure. As he took a fortifying slug, Warden Blotts thought the witches could have the prisoner. He just wanted his orderly prison back.

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter title: Aegri Somnia - A sick man's dreams (Horace)

Many thanks to Christev20 for beta'ing this chapter, with this small request. Please... no more knock-knock jokes, not even TGC knock-knock jokes.

Thank you for reading and reviewing. AV


	51. Chapter 51

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 51 - Amor Est Vitae Essentia**

Over several days, Billy spent his time slowly coaxing the Professor to eat, and managed to get him to eat a few spoonfuls before he mutely turned his head away. At first, he had his best girl Ginny bring him the food he knew the Professor loved. But at the first whiff of lamb korma, the Professor wretched horribly without any bit other than bile coming up. The only thing the Professor would tolerate was some of the pasty, tasteless porridge the prison served for breakfast. Not that his stomach could handle the over-ripe half orange, but the porridge was enough to keep him living a shadow of a life. The will was there to live, but only so far as to punish the body further for the sin of drawing breath.

Ginny looked on, eyes wide as Billy coaxed measured spoonfuls of lukewarm porridge into the barely responsive Professor. He ate, but only when Billy forced the spoon into his chapped hands. Ginny didn't know what to think of it, but was in awe of Billy's gentle touch. Her heart felt full and warm watching her wizard work.

Every time she worried because she had fallen instantly crazy-head-over-heels in love with Billy, her wonderful wizard, he would reveal something new about himself to her, and Ginny would love him all the more.

"What's wrong with him?" Ginny whispered. "I thought he'd be happy Hermione had left him."

Billy turned his crystal blue eyes on his love. "She was still his wife."

For a moment Billy studied her earnest face, committing to memory the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her cute button nose and her guileless brown eyes. He knew if he ever lost her, he'd be a poor miserable sod just like the Professor. He couldn't wait to make her his. He wanted to give Ginny a proper wedding, with everything she could possibly want. He wanted to buy the house she wanted, with all the drapes and furnishings of her choice. Place roses at her feet. Compose sonnets to her beauty. And take her out drinking again, because the witch could put down some pints.

Witches liked that sort of thing, and he'd do whatever he could to make sure that she knew she was wanted, desired, loved. He would never ever make the sort of mistake that the Professor had. No wizard should make his witch feel like anything less than the goddesses she was.

Billy would spend every last Galleon of his family's measly fortune to make her happy, because she made him feel like warm liquid every time she smiled. And best of all, she wanted babies. Even his babies. Billy had never expected such love in his life time.

"It's like he's punishing himself," Ginny whispered again. The Professor looked so fragile, as if a loudly spoken word could shatter him to pieces.

Billy nodded solemnly. "I've seen him and other prisoners do something like this before. Never this dramatic or extreme, but I know he's trying to be penitent."

"By starving himself?" Ginny exclaimed.

Billy shrugged. "Saint Catherine of Siena fasted for extended periods, her only nourishment coming from the blessed sacraments. By denying himself and feeling pain, he's atoning. Probably. Maybe?" Billy scratched his head vigorously. "I don't know what he's been reading, but most people gave up mortification of the flesh and flagellation in the Middle Ages. Or maybe he's just had a psychotic break from losing her. I dunno, but I'll be certain to keep praying for him."

Stunned, Ginny looked at her beloved fiancee with a mixture of wonder and revulsion. Billy continually amazed her.

* * *

Checking into a hotel was pointless. She'd have to go to Gringotts to get gold or cash for it. That was not an option. Gringotts was located in town. Town was populated with people. And people stared because they knew. They knew everything.

A glance was all she had given to the headline, weeks prior, but Hermione didn't need to read the offending article. The headline said it all, **SUFFERING WAR-HERO SNAPE CALLOUSLY CAST ASIDE!**

She hadn't looked at a _Prophet_ since. Hermione was all too familiar with Skeeter's particular brand of muckraking journalism, only this time Hermione believed she deserved it.

Still, she needed a roof over her head. None of the Weasleys were a viable option. Although he hadn't actually betrayed her, the pain Harry had caused her still smarted. No, it was best to avoid Harry. The Homestead was not an option, either. Hermione would have normally been indignant at the idea of throwing herself upon the tender mercies of friends, but now hadn't the self respect to care. Her list of friends was small. Her list of friends willing to help her was even smaller.

She wasn't certain of the reaction she'd get when she trudged up to the well-manicured Victorian-revival house, but she did because she had to. Because she honestly hadn't any place left to go.

She knocked tentatively on the brass badger knocker and held her breath.

The door flung open, "Oh, thank God you're here!" Jake exclaimed, grabbing her leather satchel from her fingers.

Jake sped down the hallway without a backwards glance, leaving Hermione on the stoop, utterly bewildered. It took her a few moments to collect her thoughts before trailing the excitable wizard. She followed the sounds of her file cabinets being violently opened and shut into a formal dining room.

"Jake," Hermione called nervously, her eyes roving over seven heavy-duty filing cabinets resized from her satchel and mountains of haphazard paperwork that littered his dining room table. Jake was bent over her satchel, pulling out more filing cabinets.

"Jake?"

He had found one that must have seemed promising, and was flipping through it like a demon.

"I'll, um," Hermione floundered, "I'll go put the kettle on." Jake didn't respond; he was engrossed in pulling thick blue folders out from within the treasure trove he'd found.

She picked her way down the wainscoted hallway, peering into a salon and library, until she found the kitchen at the back. Bright gleaming copper ware hung from the ceiling, and Hermione was easily able to find the tea service and plenty of extra Fortnum's. In the pantry, she found the wafer-thin orange spice biscuits that Severus favored and jars of pickled walnuts. She reached for the biscuits and kept her eyes averted from looking elsewhere.

Warily, Hermione rejoined Jake in the dining room, holding out the fine china like a maidservant, and stifled the urge to curtsy. He used his hip to close another drawer, but his eyes didn't lift from the parchments in his arms, nor did he acknowledge her presence.

"That's it," Hermione growled, dropping the tea service with a clatter onto the paper strewn table, "what on earth is going on here, Jake? I want answers, now!"

"Oh, so Princess finally decided to join us?" Jake tossed back. "I was wondering where you had gone off to."

"I went to the kitchen," Hermione defended.

Jake rolled his eyes. "Sit, Sugar. We've got business to discuss. You look like hell, by the way."

"I…" Hermione touched her newly washed hair. It was clean. Her jeans and _Mugglicious_ shirt were clean, too. Her face, well, she hadn't looked at that, but knew it was scrubbed. She didn't protest any further, and sat numbly in the chair Jake indicated.

He rounded the table, grabbed the seat next to her, spun it to face her and flopped into it. He pulled off a ratty converse shoe and began kneading at his arch. Hermione made a disgusted face, but declined to comment. He still hadn't said anything about agreeing to take her in.

"I can't believe you left me to deal with the distributors by myself," Jake whined. "They're such tossers, the whole lot of them."

Hermione could only blink for several seconds. "What the hell do you mean? I've killed all their contracts!"

"Leaving me to renegotiate them," he huffed. "And you know I'm no good at contracts. Bitch, you can't just up and close a company like Granger Industries. It's bigger than just your sorry little arse."

Hermione was gobsmacked. Absolutely, beyond all comprehension, gobsmacked.

"You're trying to run it," she said dumbly. Not that her files upended everywhere wasn't proof enough.

Jake rolled his eyes.

"I closed the factory. I sent everybody home, severance packages and all. There isn't a Granger Industries."

"Stop being so melodramatic," he huffed, "that's my job."

"Was," Hermione deadpanned. "Was your job. I stopped paying you weeks ago, remember?"

Jake looked nervous and twitched in his chair. "Yeah, about that…"

Hermione's head jerked up, her eyes wide and livid. She was certain whatever he was about to say, she wasn't going to like it. "What about it? Jake, so help me, you had better start talking, or I'll whip out my wand and begin the gender reassignment process."

He sighed dramatically and pulled at the loose strands of hair in his eyes. "I couldn't exactly start forging your name and drafting from Gringotts. They can detect things like that, nasty buggers. So I forged your name and hired an accountancy firm to do payroll. They can draft all day long from Gringotts. And well, that was that."

"That was certainly not that!" Hermione railed.

"You once signed a Power of Attorney for me; it's all perfectly legal," he defended with outstretched arms. "I think. I'm sure it's legal. It's gotta be."

As much as her blood was boiling, she also honestly didn't care. Hermione slumped, her rage not as strong as her will.

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione moaned. "I just wanted a fresh start."

"Yeah," Jake said sarcastically, perusing her body and evidently not liking what he saw, "fresh start. I can see that. Because hating yourself is sooo much healthier."

"I don't hate myself," she retorted weakly. "I just need some time away."

'And some Liquid Sunshine,' she thought... but no. She was done with the potion, which incidentally was why she both looked and felt like right shit. After doing immeasurable damage to her life, career, and marriage on the golden brew, she had finally had enough.

"Right, well. Good luck with that."

"Wait. Why are you doing this again?"

"Because," he said dramatically, "have you ever once looked at what you pay me, Girly? Like I could get another job answering phones and running errands that pays nearly as much as you pay me!"

"Paid. Past tense."

"Whatever. Look, you can't run Granger Industries. It's obvious you need some time away, or soul searching, or... even a proper hairdresser at this point would be a thousand times better than what you've got going on right now. But Sweets, leave this to me. I've got this… I think. Well, now that I've got the files, I'll have it… I think. Anyway, what I mean to say is: Go off and do whatever you need to do, and Granger Industries will be here when you return."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Hm… not buying it, Jake. When's the other shoe going to drop? And I don't mean those smelly trainers. For the love of all that's Light in the world, put that damn thing back on! Ugh, smelly boy shoes."

"Well, I do have some changes I want approved."

"Oh, like those accountants that you approved," she smirked.

Jake held his hands up in a helpless gesture. "You see what you left me to work with."

"Forgery, and a sketchy Power of Attorney? As I recall, the only Power of Attorney I left was limited to the company, and should have dissolved when the company dissolved. And I believe it was limited to a six month term."

"Witch, will you listen to me? I'm keeping your arse afloat! When you halted production out of the blue, you backed out of literally hundreds of contracts from suppliers and retailers. Half of them still want to drag your bony arse into court."

Hermione allowed the thunderous silence to stretch between them, as she pondered Jake's intentions. What he had said was true. All of it. And she didn't care. Let them haul her off to Azkaban. She didn't care.

"What changes do you want to make?" she said defeated. Hermione already knew he would get whatever he wanted.

"I want Lee back. There's no way he'll work for you, but he'll work for me, Sweets."

"You can get Lee?" she asked with wide-eyed respect.

Jake nodded sadly. "Honey, I could have gotten him back the same day he walked out, but he'd never work for you again. You can't expect everyone who works _for_ you to work _like_ you. That's bad business. And you're a micro-manager. Not everybody loves you the way I do, Sugar. And I'm keeping the accountants. They do a good job of the payroll, and they can handle all of our books."

Hermione nodded. She knew it was a decision that was long overdue. When she had run the company out of the Weasley shed, it was too easy to do everything herself. She thought that just because the numbers got larger the workload really wasn't that different. She could handle it. And when she couldn't, well, she just handled it then, too.

"I'm bringing on more people to handle office work. More people to handle Research. And more people to work the line."

"So, basically you're hiring in every sector."

"Bingo! I knew you would catch on. Everyone says you're a smart witch. But we've got to do it like, yesterday, because we're almost completely out of back stock, and I've... uh, already sorta committed us to more shipments. But I hear a scare on the market drove the price of _Good Hair Day_ up by thirty Knuts, so that's positive!" Hermione and Jake both winced. Market fluctuations didn't mean extra profit for them, only their distributors and retailers, but increased demand did mean production would have to stay weekends.

"Jake," she said in a warning voice, "Just how much of a commitment are we talking here?"

Jake sifted through paperwork slowly to buy time, as if he didn't know the answer already.

"Jake?" Hermione's belly soured as he continued to put off her question.

"Ah! Here it is," he announced and slowly unfurled at least a twenty foot roll of parchment. He studied it for several seconds before Hermione snatched it out of his hand. She skimmed through the tables and delivery deadlines, her eyes widening at each calculation.

"Shit!" she shrieked. "We're screwed."

"Relax, Mama. I'm working on it."

Hermione could only stare dumbly at him, scads of parchment held loosely in her fingertips. Was he fucking insane?

Jake swiped a few messy bangs out of his eyes and sighed dramatically under her stare. "I've set up a tent in the backyard. It expands to nearly the size we need for our production line, without interfering with the house. I have it wired for wi-fi, you know. I am _not_ giving up my Playstation just to have more magic in the house. And as soon as you tell me where the storage locker holding our production equipment is, we can get started. Two thirds of our line employees have already agreed to return. This is easy, I've got this... I just, uh, really really need to know where that storage locker is."

Hermione fished in her pocket, not knowing why she was handing over her keys, but doing it, just the same. She pulled the brass key, labeled 14, off the ring and supplied the address in Hogsmeade.

Jake shifted nervously. Hermione read him so well - it was time for the other shoe.

"And I'm bringing in a new business partner."

"A business partner," Hermione repeated. She had never had a business partner. Granger Industries was always a one-witch show. Always.

"Yeah. Me," he twitched.

"You?"

"Fifty percent controlling interest?" he asked with a hopeful eye.

"Not a chance."

"On a company you dissolved," he reminded her.

"On a company you're illegally drafting funds from," she reminded him.

"Forty percent?"

"Thirty," Hermione acquiesced.

Jake wriggled in his chair and proffered a handshake.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Hermione muttered.

Later that night over Chinese take-away and inventory reports, Hermione realized she had never asked him if she could crash on his couch.

"Third door on your left," Jake said without looking up from his orange chicken or parchments.

"Pardon?"

"You look beat. The guest bedroom's the third door to your left."

"Oh, thanks."

"No problem, partner."

* * *

Ginny sat on his fetid cot one late afternoon, pulling a wide-toothed comb through his snarled and grease-slicked hair as she contemplated braiding his lengthening beard. It was a look that sometimes worked for Professor Dumbledore, but she wasn't too certain if he could pull it off. No, it wasn't the right fashion statement for the dark wizard.

Severus hadn't the regard to chase her away, but closed his eyes to the chatter and baby-talk cooing that was supposed to be a comfort.

"And Parvati's about to kick her out. She says she stinks worse than a rotting Grindlylow carcass rolled in Troll piss. My parents won't take her; you know Mum still hasn't forgiven her for the whole Ron and Charlie thing. I'd take her, but I'm moving out of my flat. Billy and I found the most perfect cottage.

"Oops! Caught a snag. Sorry about that, Sir.

"Anyway, Billy isn't so keen on having her move in, I mean, we will be newlyweds soon enough," Ginny gave a very girlish giggle. Severus didn't react.

"But still, I'd take her in. But she said something to Billy, and he's still in such a snit over it. I don't know what's she going to do, though. I don't even think she's looking for something. She wouldn't even glance at the adverts. Oops! Another snag. Sorry!

"What was I saying? Oh yeah, so she needs to make a decision fast. She's run out of product for the distributors. And ever since the factory closed, she hasn't done anything but stare at her crumbly old Time-Turner research."

"Who?" Severus choked turning his head to address the witch yanking his hair out, strand by strand.

"Hermione, of course," Ginny responded genuinely surprised she had an audience. The Professor seemed to be a candidate for the Thickey ward.

Severus' eyes roved back and forth, as if he was reading from a nonexistent page, and Ginny hesitantly continued, watching the wizard with a suspicious frown.

"I don't know what she hopes to accomplish with her research. Everybody knows all Time-Turners are Goblin-wrought. And, well, that's a problem isn't it? The Goblins have put a moratorium on metal crafting since the war. Personally, I think it's to create a black market and drive up the price of…"

"What of Hermione, you stupid twit?" Severus interjected.

Startled, Ginny got up and began walking backwards towards the cell door, her hands up in a placating manner. "Just that she's miserable and losing her business, Sir. She doesn't really look any better than, uh, well... you. And I think she's being sued."

Severus held the trembling girl still, pinning her beneath the intensity of his gaze.

"Get me Ffoulkes!" he snapped before blankly turning back to face the familiar stone wall.

The frightened redhead skittered off, the sound of her heels madly pounding the stone flooring as she ran off, no doubt to be comforted by her swain. Severus slowly shook his head as he listened to her exit. He had wasted too much time in his misery. Too much time rotting away.

To the cold stones he murmured, "It is too late for me. My own soul is forfeit. I will surely rot in Hades for my crimes, but I have one more soul to save."

Hermione. He could give her this. Give her all of himself. She was crying for him. He knew with his callously cast words he had rent her soul. He'd seen her heart break. He'd done it himself. Severus knew he was responsible for her pain. Puppet of the Gods or not, they had cast her into his life and allowed her to be used. He was responsible for her.

Annulment or not, she was his wife. He was responsible for her. His life had never been about his own needs, but those of others. And delivering himself into Hermione's hands was a much more pleasant task than standing in front of James Potter's spawn and a werewolf.

She was broken, and he'd fix her if he could, but he couldn't do it here.

Not from the cell.

The Gods forgive him, but he had someone more important to worry about than Towering Beings who never left their golden perches.

Hermione's soul was more important than his own.

If it wasn't too late.

And maybe - if there was any mercy left in the world - maybe, he could win her back. Hope dangled from a frail thread, and he clung to it.

A/N:  
Chapter title: Amor Est Vitae Essentia - Love is the essence of life. Fitting words, eh?

Schmootches to Christev20 for her mad beta skills. Love ya, chica - even if you're leaving me high and dry this week for Drabblin' night.

And more kisses to my lovely readers who keep me feeling all warm and fuzzy with your kind words of encouragement. Thank you all, AV


	52. Chapter 52

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**Chapter 52 - Locus Poenitentiae**

She knew she needed forgiveness. For all the things that she had done, and all the things she had left undone – and it was the latter that had always given her over-achieving nature the most trouble. Regrets of a life led astray.

Often she had wondered how infinitely different her life would have been had she not paused as a child to spill a few hurt tears in the girls' bathroom. Would that Hermione have sat her N.E.W.T.s and gone on to university? Made important scientific and lifesaving discoveries, instead of holding claim as the inventor of the wizarding world's first automatic air freshener? Would that witch have even taken the field in defense of Hogwarts?

Probably.

Maybe not as an Order member, but her foundation was built upon the value of freedom and that was worth raising her wand to protect. The other Hermione, the perfect one who was not a colossal disappointment, would spend her Sundays at her parents' house with her own family instead of the odd holiday or weekend at the Burrow, where under Molly's reproving gaze, Hermione felt all her inadequacies laid bare.

As she curled up underneath the heavy damask comforter in Jake's guest room, it seemed all her inadequacies weighed heavily upon her.

She had failed as a student when she sacrificed her academic achievement for a war victory. Not that she would complain of missing her final year. Only lament its passing.

She had failed miserably as a daughter by moving her memory-modified parents out of the hemisphere and then leaving them there. Not that they would remember a daughter; they were blissfully unaware of her existence, magic, the war, and much of the last two decades of their lives. She sometimes wished she could be rid of her memories, too.

She had failed as a wife. Was there anything more to be said about that?

Apparently, the Daily Prophet felt there was. Hermione had been blessed by the rare fortune that the Prophet had not done a story on her unfortunate marriage. When she had wed, the Prophet had salacious scandals and Marriage Law fiascoes aplenty to report upon. There was so much news fodder, it had temporarily suspended its sensational tradition of muckraking, yellow journalism. Her own wedding announcement to Severus had gone unpublished.

The Prophet was making up for lost time now. She had been demonized nearly as much as Severus Snape had been deified. They hailed him as the prodigal son, though he had never been favored, and romanticized his life-threatening espionage. He'd been recreated into a sexy and stylish James Bond of the new millennium.

Hermione, of course, was the inconsiderate tart, and they went to great lengths to play up her cruelty.

They did their best to dig up the absolute worst photograph of her on record, and it did not disappoint. Identification card photographers could have studied the photograph for creative inspiration. It was an old enough shot that her bucked teeth were still highly visible and over-sized. The unflattering dumpy Weasley pullover concealed not even the faintest hint of a budding chest. She had obviously only just nibbled on a quill and had it explode on her, for her mouth and spotty cheeks were smeared with ink, and her hair… there was no reason to talk about her hair. It sufficed to say that puberty had been mightily unkind.

The article accompanying the photograph, however, had been slanderous. Or would have been slanderous if the truth hadn't been so frighteningly awful.

Fact: Hermione had connived Severus Snape into marrying her. She amended that they had both been using each other to their mutual benefit. The Prophet had no reason to add that piece of personal information, and it wasn't likely that Severus would give them an interview to clarify, either. The newspaper theorized he would never have consorted with such a homely and unattractive witch, had he not been rotting alone and abused in Azkaban. Hermione couldn't fault their logic.

Fact: They had been hastily wed in the prison. The Prophet said it was because Severus had desperately bargained with her to have access to cleaning charms to keep his body and cell disease-free, and she had charitably agreed. Well, that was technically true and part of their marriage contract stipulations, which were embarrassingly a matter of public records. The paper had even pointed out that Hermione had disgustingly spat after the obligatory wedding kiss.

Fact: She had forced him to labor for her, using him as a clerical sweatshop worker to set her failing business to rights, and paid him not a single Knut, nor put him on a single patent. And she hadn't. He never earned a thing for his work at Granger Industries. Oh, he'd made Galleons hand-over-fist on the nasty lichen thingies she had managed for him, and his book royalties, but those all belonged to him in the first place. It was embarrassingly true. She hadn't paid him a damned thing for any of his help.

Fact: Hermione had been spotted sharing a laugh and drinking Pixie Dusts with Donald Browne. Browne declined to comment on the nature of their relationship, fuelling speculation of a hot, sweaty, and tempestuous relationship. It was also public record that the full fidelity charm she had been bound to Severus under had never been activated. Ex-dalliances of Browne were quoted as saying he favored kinky water sports and elaborate role playing. The Prophet believed the witch who had been reported lover to both Harry Potter and Viktor Krum at the tender age of 15 before working her way through all the eligible Weasley bachelors, had a preference for rough, humiliating sex. They went on to conclude she had left Severus Snape, newly dubbed hero of the Light, because he was forbidden by prison legislation from giving in to her perverse carnal demands.

Fact: She had left him rotting in an empty cell, a broken wizard.

True. True. True. It was all bloody true, or at least there was a shred of truth to everything written.

Written as such, Hermione wanted to beg for death, but before that could come, she had to set her life to rights.

There was nothing she could do for Severus. That darkening shadow could not be so easily mended, and any one of the witches vying to replace her would certainly do a lot better by him than she had done.

The anger, resentment, and rejection she had felt that that pushed her to reject him in kind had burned up.

Replaced by shame and self doubt, Hermione could not bear to visit him.

For one, she no longer had spouse's privilege, and would have to petition the Ministry alongside the hordes of more honorable witches bidding for the opportunity. And even if the Ministry could be convinced to allow the visitation, Severus would not likely want to see her.

She had Gryffindor courage… somewhere, but was feeling pretty cowardly. Escaping to Australia sounded wonderful.

From Severus she had learned about the redemptive process. He had forced her to really consider its true meaning as a practical matter, and not in vague spiritual terms, as couched by her faith. For that, she supposed, she ought to be grateful; it was good preparation for what she had in mind.

A person could fuck up in life, she had learned. Everyone fucked up in life. It happened whether attributable to destiny, free will, or Eve's fall from grace. It was expected that nobody was perfect. Magical or not, we were all human. But it was how 'oopsies' and messes are handled that defined character. Being able to honestly say, 'You know what? I fucked up, and I'm going to fix it,' was so important. From miserable sods who bounce their bosses off towers to foolish wives who drink lurid pink, fizzy cocktails with random men.

Jake practically threw her out of his house when she mentioned her desire to set things to rights with her parents in Australia. He very affectionately told her that he loved her to pieces, but could not have her in the house one moment longer. Apparently she sucked up all the _chi_ and it was very bad for his _yang_ and social scene. He also miraculously arranged for the first available International Portkey with only three layovers that same day. She was quite sure she should be insulted, but couldn't quite muster the energy to snark back, after catching the Daily Prophet's front page in the International Portkey Terminal.

Severus Snape, dark wizarding hero extraordinaire, was scheduled to have a retrial on the grounds of overwhelming new evidence and surprise star testimonies. It was expected that he would be acquitted and walk away a free man that day, and if not, a grassroots effort to petition his freedom had already garnered thousands of signatures.

Another headline proclaimed he had unseated Ronald Weasley as Number Two best-looking wizard. Harry was still in the Number One slot, no surprise there. Shockingly, Witch Weekly was offering twenty five hundred Galleons for anyone with a photograph of Severus Snape smiling for their annual competition, where he was already heavily favored to win. Thus far no takers had come forth bearing a smiling Snape. Hermione smiled to herself, thinking of those adorable dimples.

No. She couldn't face that now. She wasn't sure if she could face that ever. Her nausea was growing, either from whirling across continents or an imagination rife with thoughts of a single wizard indulging in just-got-out-of-prison sex with a line of witches a city block long, Hermione wasn't sure. When she arrived in Brisbane hours later she tried to put those thoughts all behind her, and was quite successful until she spotted a prominently displayed Daily Prophet in the Australian terminal newsstand.

In an over-sized photograph, Misters Andrew Ffoulkes and William Mulciber held back reporters as Severus appeared for a millisecond on film, before Side-Along Apparating with Warden Blotts.

She felt sick again, but turned her attention to locating her parents.

She found the house where she had left them easily enough. Hermione had been relieved at the time that they had met the minimum age requirement for the 'Active Living Village.' It had meant that even if she had died in battle, they would be looked after and always receive the care they'd need. The specialized housing development was predominantly full of healthy retirees, but it also had a nursing and hospice program for the residents as they aged.

As she walked up to the small immaculate house she heard loud music coming from the backyard and wondered if her parents hadn't moved off someplace else. That would be disastrous, and filled her with more fear than removing the memory modification charm and explaining her reprehensible behavior.

Swallowing down the gnawing fear, Hermione pressed the buzzer. The wait before she heard footsteps coming to the door made a sheen of sweat spread out across her brow, despite the day's pleasant temperature.

The door swung open and her mum blinked.

"Harmony!" she cheered. "Oh fantastic, darling!" She threw the door open wide and held out her arms for a crushing hug, and yet still managed to keep her frozen drink from spilling. "You're father's going to be so happy to see you, dear. Come on in!"

Stunned, Hermione mutely followed her mother through the open floor plan house to the back terrace where her father was studiously working on a game of pyramids.

"Randall," her mum shrieked, "look who I found at the door. Harmony!"

Her dad grinned broadly and set down his cards and cigar. Hermione scowled. Her father never smoked. It led to oral cancer, gum disease, and stained teeth, and yet, he plainly was her dad.

"Baby, look at you all grown up. Last time I remember you were just a wee thing."

"I, uh…" thrown for a loop, Hermione sat on the tall bar stool her mum had indicated and accepted the margarita pressed into her hand.

"So tell us, Harmony," her mum began, "how've ya been? Did you win your little war?"

"Uh," she cleared her throat and set down the drink. "It's Hermione, actually."

Her mum and dad looked to each other, communicating in the Legilimency that existed between all old married couples, before her mum shrugged.

"Oh, I think I like Harmony better, but no worries."

Hermione didn't know what to think. This lady, who was her mother, looked like her mother, sounded like her mother, but was obviously not her mother. She had never seen her mother so lively or tanned, or wearing shorts. Her father hadn't changed much, other than a bit more distinguished grey hairs and new glasses. Australia seemed to agree with them, but something was desperately wrong.

Wendell and Monica Wilkins, or Randall and Veronica Granger, should never have recognized her.

"Oh, well. We won,' she said meekly. "The Light triumphed and Harry lives."

Her mum clapped, "That's fabulous," as her dad added a "Bravo!"

"We were beginning to believe we weren't going to see you again, Cricket," her dad piped up.

"You've missed me," she said stupidly.

"Of course," her mum interjected laying a fond kiss on her cheek and running her fingers through Hermione's frizzing mane. "You don't think we'd forget our only daughter?"

"Well, we had for about the first two years," her dad added stretching his legs to come over and give her a squeeze. "But then as the memory charm started lifting, we realized all the oddly similar dreams we were both having had far too many similarities. Then we just pieced it all together."

"A bit like a good whodunit story," her mum threw in.

"Good thing you programmed those spells to slowly dissolve," her dad remarked grinning. "I can't imagine what a shock it would have been to get all my memories at once. I don't think my heart could have taken it."

"Yes," she replied absently, "That would have been a great shock."

He studied her intently. Randall had always been able to read his girl, and nodded to himself. It was just as he expected. The memory-whatevers weren't originally set to fail. Ah well. No sense worrying Veronica about it. She could turn into a right shrew if not handled properly. He'd have to talk to Harmony about it privately.

"Well, what say you reverse it, Cricket, and we can hear about everything we missed, eh?"

Hours later an exhausted, bone weary, and brow beaten Harmony Wilkins… rather Hermione Granger crawled up on the futon in the den, the sound of her parents arguing still audible from their bedroom.

She planned to spend the week, and doubted she'd get any peace.

So this was the pain that came with penance?

She didn't like it one bit.

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter Title: Locus poenitentiae - A place for repentance

My gratitude to Christev20 for her brilliant and diligent work as my Beta. And congratulations on the success of your first fic. I'm so happy for you.

My apologies to my readers if I haven't gotten around to responding to your reviews. I am actually away on a business trip, and my 'play' time is quite limited. As always, I will respond to your reviews. (Unless you're not signed in, then I am not able to.)


	53. Chapter 53

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 53 - Obesa Cantavit**

"Yes Warden, I understand your point, but you've neglected to mention _who_ ordered you to have the VWII inmates Kissed. Court records only indicate that they be held in pre-trial confinement."

Warden Blotts had been accosted by several reporters all at once in the hallway outside the waiting room to Prisoner 11652's retrial, and he stayed to talk with the esteemed members of the Press to get his photo in the papers. Accompanying the high-profile prisoner was a matter of garnering accolades for Azkaban. And if the papers happen to link his good name with his fine job of prisoner rehabilitation, then that was bully good, too.

The small gathering of barristers and solicitors inside the sterile Wizengamot waiting room could practically hear bullets rattling in the hallway. The reporters were gunning for answers after Deputy Undersecretary Percival Weasley's damning report on the status of Kissed inmates had been accidentally leaked. And Warden Blotts was sweating profusely. He hadn't anticipated they would question his integrity, or his ability to maintain order in the isolated prison. He was just there to stand proudly next to Prisoner 11652 and get his picture in the papers, but not like this. The reporters hadn't filled out interview request forms for him or submitted their questions in advance.

"You see," he prevaricated while clearing his throat. "I never received any further word from the Wizengamot in all of this. It's entirely their fault. They sent me hordes of inmates at once and never followed up with dates for trials. You really ought to be talking to them about their miscarriage of justice."

"Oh Harold," Rita cooed, placing her manicured hand gently on his arm. "It must have been so difficult for you to find space for them. How positively awful - your prison overrun with people everywhere, and no word on when they'd leave. Having them Kissed must have been the best solution."

Warden Blotts sighed heavily and found sympathy in Rita's golden green eyes. A port in the storm. Finally someone understood him. "It was months! Months after the Final Battle and still no word from the Wizengamot on their status. What was I to do? We didn't have beds for all of them. The children all needed schooling. I don't have the budget for schooling! I didn't have the budget to feed them, but Kissed inmates are model inmates, and their nutritional packs are a good value. I was able to maintain Azkaban even under such adversity, and still not go over budget. They should have thanked me for all I did."

"So they never were sentenced?" another voice spoke up.

"They would have been sentenced," Warden Blotts spoke up hastily. "But the Wizengamot forgot about them; they fell under the post-war ad hoc committee. I had nothing to do with that. And I'm sure they would have received life sentences. That's fairly standard for Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathizers. These people were irredeemable. Having them Kissed was an act of mercy!"

"Wait," another witch interjected. "Did you just say _children_ were Kissed?

The silence in the hallway was unsettling as all eyes were on him. Warden Blotts scratched nervously at his neck where trickles of perspiration irritated his sensitive skin. Somehow he was positive they weren't going to be pleased by how many Galleons he had saved the Ministry.

"But they were Death Eaters..." he whined peevishly.

Severus grimaced and stared at his shackled hands while the Press jumped on Blotts. He had been a hair's breadth away from being Kissed himself. With a simple filling out of request papers, the Warden could have had the Dementors transported into his cell. Only the Wizengamot's original ruling had protected him. But for what? Six and a half years of emptiness?

Hermione had been right. This was not penance.

He hadn't done a damn thing to anyone's credit; he had simply resigned himself to being useless and wallowed in his own misery. There was a calming feeling, a satisfaction that came when the responsibility to make decisions was taken away. He had been responsible for so much in his life; it had been a relief to no longer make choices. In Azkaban he didn't have anyone to disappoint and nothing to live up to. But he had deluded himself into thinking it served a greater purpose than his own selfish need for peace. Too late he realized what it had cost him.

The Wizengamot met again to decide his fate. This time the proceedings to acquit him took all of thirty minutes. He spent seventeen and a half of those minutes waiting outside for a verdict and listening to the Warden get castrated by the Press. He enjoyed listening to the ruckus in the hallway much more than the deliberation in the court room. Severus was ready to go home. Or at least to the Homestead. But there was one small matter to attend to before they would release him, a series of meetings with his Prisoner Re-entry Officer. It was an absurd new idea stolen from Muggle courts.

Ignoring his wishes on the matter, and the fact that he'd been declared a free man, Severus had to attend the sessions. It seemed like an insult. Innocent and free to go, but ordered to stay. He would have written a nastily worded letter to the convening authority, except every word he wrote, every form he filled out, appeared to get snatched up by plume-plucked witches who continuously batted their eyelashes at him. Severus had to sign his release forms six different times because they kept losing his paperwork and everything else he signed. The Mulciber boy even had to step in on his behalf. It was a good thing he was still wandless and shackled.

Before being given the dignity of his proper robes and wand, Severus was turned over to Re-entry Officer Cole, a witch he recognized as an ex-student. His fate in the hands of an ex-student wasn't an inspiring thought.

* * *

Elizabeth Cole was a witch quite accustomed to being overlooked. At five foot-ish, unless in her impossibly high wedge sandals, the average brunette did not stand out. In school, her mates hadn't paid much attention to her. She wasn't the sort of girl to be the center of gossip. She was neither caught with the wrong sort of wizard, nor created a fabulous scandal. That, and the freckled girl was _nice_, which made her rather uninteresting for Slytherin House. Her name and photo appeared in her yearbook with only a brief mention as a member of the Toad Choir.

On the whole, the unnoticed witch passed through seven years at Hogwarts without a bother, and few of her mates remembered her. But Severus Snape remembered her, and she had not forgotten him, either.

Now, as he looked through haunted eyes at the vaguely familiar witch with a clipboard, he idly catalogued that time had matured her features. Her green and silver painted toenails sticking out from the bottom of her robes cast dubious aspersions regarding her maturity, but Severus didn't much care.

Elizabeth cleared her throat gently and watched her ex-professor with a slight frown. He seemed far too unresponsive to be healthy. "Firstly," she began, smoothing down her robes as she sat in the counselor's chair in front of her patient, "I'd like to thank you for your willingness to meet with me."

Severus raised an unamused eyebrow which conveyed quite thoroughly that he had no choice in the matter. Cleared of all charges, and set free into the world pending a mental health evaluation by the Prisoner Re-entry Officer. His Prisoner Re-entry Officer, who was staring at him like he was a tempting piece of dark chocolate.

"To begin the evaluation, I'd like to ask what your plans are after release. Do you have a home to go to? Do you need a place to stay?"

"Miss Cole –"

"Please," she interrupted, "this is a therapeutic environment, and you may call me Elizabeth, or Lizzy, just as I'll try to make you more comfortable by calling you Severus, or Sevvie... or not," she quickly amended upon seeing his poisonous glare.

"I'd much prefer to remain formal. Nearly six years in Azkaban may have left me a bit rusty in dealing with the outside world."

"Of course, Mr. Snape," Elizabeth winced. This was not at all going to her plan.

Elizabeth was a Drug and Potions Abuse Counselor, a career field track her former Head of House had encouraged her to pursue. He had never made her feel ignored or insignificant. And when she had once expounded on a theory regarding homeopathy, he hadn't sent her away. Instead he listened carefully and put her in touch with the right Master for her to Apprentice under.

Life had brought Elizabeth full circle, and she was finally in a position to help him out. Naturally, it didn't hurt that she had developed the smallest crush on her Potions Professor. A crush that hadn't gone away with time and had only become stronger with the release of his book. _Ex Intempestivo Pax_ was as brilliant as the wizard who had written it.

"Well, where were we? That's right," Elizabeth nervously took a glance at the hastily scrawled notes on her clipboard, and cleared her throat, "Home? Do you need a place to stay? I've been informed that your house has been condemned. The Muggle authorities have plans to level the block and put in an overpass."

Severus Snape neither moved nor twitched. After being informed that his home was in the process of getting leveled to build a road, he remained impassive. Elizabeth marked this observation down; it was disquieting. According to the preliminary research she'd done, it was the only property he had claim to, but then Elizabeth hadn't done a records search on 'Half-Blood Prince' either.

It would be unprofessional to offer him a place to stay at her house right off the bat. But she imagined as they adjourned the session, she'd place a warm comforting hand on his shoulder and kindly offer her guest bedroom.

"I have a house to go home to," he responded after a moment, his eyes briefly in pain. Hermione wasn't there. She'd left just as quickly as she'd moved in. Without her it wasn't much of a home.

"Alright," Elizabeth shook her head and made another notation. "Job then? Do you have any prospects for employment or require assistance?"

"I'm self-employed."

And wasn't that the largest irony of his life. Whatever Hermione touched turned to gold. She couldn't help but make money left and right. She stumbled and created wealth. She had cunningly sold off his lichen stock while retaining much of the day-to-day house-elf operations to continue to make a profit. The book she had prompted him to write and publish had turned him into a very rich wizard overnight. Severus had want of nothing. If he decided to spend the rest of his days unproductive and living like a Malfoy, he could. Not that it would bring her back… Hermione had her own fortunes, and she was not a witch to be bought by such things.

"Damn," Elizabeth muttered to herself. This was getting a lot more difficult than she anticipated. He hadn't even really noticed her.

The Ministry didn't have Prisoner Re-entry Officers, but Elizabeth had created the position herself after reading his book. It went to figure that eventually the wizard would want to be released, and then she'd be in a position to finally spend some quality time with him. Elizabeth was a nice witch, but that didn't make her any less Slytherin. With the dissolution of his marriage, Elizabeth had believed she'd hit the jackpot, but looking at the wizard she barely recognized, she realized she'd miscalculated.

She had hoped they could easily engage in some playful banter. She'd tell him stories of giving Drug and Potions Abuse lectures to dunderheaded students and empathize with how difficult it had been for him to teach all those years. Elizabeth needed to keep chocolate on her just to refrain from choking an occasional thick-headed student. But these were things they had in common. And now that his wife was out of the picture, she was certain she was perfect for the dark, brooding Potions Master of her fantasies.

For one, he hadn't even been married for a year. It was a Marriage Law marriage, which meant it wasn't a love-match. And the Granger-witch, aside from being much too young for him, wasn't even able to take him home at night. How was that for a real marriage? By Elizabeth's figuring, she was in prime position to snag herself the biggest trophy husband of them all.

Except he was a mess.

They'd dressed him in his grey woolen prison robes, but she could tell that even if he were cleaned up, Severus Snape had lost his sheen. The wizard of her fantasies was, well, lackluster. And she was failing miserably at snaring him. Damn, and now she was stuck with being a Prisoner Re-entry Officer.

Elizabeth quickly concluded their counseling session and she marked his case file as complete. No additional follow-ups required. Which was a shame, because she had bought robes and strappy heels for at least six more sessions.

A bewildered Severus Snape made his way through the Wizengamot's out-processing lines with Ffoulkes at his side. He stared at the hawthorn and dragon heartstring wand they presented him and blinked. It hummed in his hand, recognizing its owner and calling to his magic.

He could do anything now. Nothing but the limits of his magic could hold him back. For the first time in his life, Severus had a sprawling Manor house and the gold to bring it back to its previous splendor. He had all the time in the world to attend to it and do whatever he felt like. His future was laid out before him, and he found himself a man of many options and a wizard of means to pursue what pleased him.

As he Apparated to his Homestead, he only wanted his Hermione.

* * *

His first impression of the Homestead was that he'd gotten horribly mixed up somehow. Perhaps he'd Apparated wrong, except that Severus never Apparated wrong, regardless of how out of practice he was. But the Homestead did not appear in any way, shape or form to be his manor home. For one thing, it was clean. Well, the elves had always kept it clean, but there was a fresh coat of cream on the walls in the entryway that brightened the room considerably.

Just then Ffoulkes Apparated next to him, briefcase under one arm, and a tattered over-sized carpetbag under the other. He'd stayed. Ffoulkes had offered to stay the night and possibly the weekend, and Severus tried to think of a decent reason to chase him off, but damned if he couldn't. Severus was losing his touch. It was taking extra effort just to be snarky.

"Ah, lovely," the solicitor remarked handing his packages off to an eager elf.

"I'd show you around," Severus remarked dryly, "but it appears my wife has seen fit to change a few things..."

He wasn't certain where anything was really; he'd only been in the home once before he shelled out the lion's share of his meager gold to purchase the slum. It was only after Hermione walked into his life that he'd had anything really in the bank. Just a bit in savings and a few stipends from old potions he'd patented; it was hardly enough to call a decent living, but he'd given it to her to reinvest in his ancestral home. His money pit. When it had come up for auction Severus had been the lone bidder, and he'd snatched it away for the minimum price. Nobody had wanted the decaying place; by wizarding standards it was just as much a hovel as Spinners End had been to Muggles. But it was his. Correction. Hers.

As he opened doors and peered into rooms with Ffoulkes, that singular fact overwhelmed him. Hermione had poured herself into bringing the old girl back to her former glory. Where places could be restored to original, she had, and parts that needed replacing were replaced. It was as simple as that, except it wasn't. Immediately, Severus knew she had overspent the modest budget he'd allotted her for the Homestead's upkeep in their marriage contract. By the looks of it, she'd gone over budget several times. Just as he wondered what on earth possessed her to do so, the answer crushed him. She'd moved in forever. This was to be _their_ home, and as he gripped the doorway molding and swayed on his feet while peering into a cheerful nursery, anguish tore through his chest.

He couldn't see it. When he was locked away, he couldn't see beyond his cell. He couldn't envision Hermione's Homestead. He couldn't see the home life she talked about, it was too far removed, too far outside his ability to accept. Never once did he have someplace pretty to come home to, and a loving wife waiting for him. Those things only happened to other men. Not him. The Fates only strung him into their tapestry for amusement.

He took a lurching step into the children's nursery and could finally imagine Hermione bending over the crib putting one of their children down for the night. This was her home.

He had to find her.

* * *

Damn Weasley girl had given him bad information. Hermione _had_ lost her business, and _had_ lived with Miss Patil - well, Mrs. Overton now - but wasn't living there any more. She'd been kicked out, and there was no forwarding address for Hermione. Severus Snape had never promised anyone he wouldn't resort to poisoning someone. It was a coward's method, but quite affective. And in the cases of Severus' more beloved poisons, it would be undetectable and 100% effective.

Had he a proper lab, Severus was quite sure he'd be brewing one for Mrs. Overton nee Patil. The chit had kicked _his wife_ out on the streets, callously, and without a thought to her safety or well-being.

He sat fuming about the fire call that hadn't ended that girl's life. If only her Floo hadn't been warded to calls-only, he would have reached through the grate and strangled her himself. Though, given that he was just currently released from prison, Severus supposed committing murder was not the wisest course of action, and Hermione might not have appreciated the gesture.

Severus sat back on his haunches and contemplated his next move. Hermione had hopped around the Hogwarts' social network borrowing from friends and avoiding being seen in public, which he supposed was wise, given the asinine things they were printing about his wife. She did not deserve to be named 'Trollop of the Year.' Hermione had held him at arms length for months and hadn't even allowed him to cop a decent feel. She was not a trollop. She was his wife, goddamn it!

She'd managed to get their marriage annulled on the basis that he hadn't laid wand to her. Severus snorted as he brushed off the ash clinging to his knees. He'd managed to get in her once. Never mind that he hadn't been able to complete the deed, but he'd been _there_. That had to bloody well count for something.

The more Severus dwelled on the situation outside of Azkaban, the more incensed he became. The prison had rotted his mind. The conditioning of thinking oneself less than a person, a criminal, had seeped into his psyche. Azkaban had taught him he was a number. Prisoner 11652. Worthy of mushy peas and rotten half oranges. When he'd entered the prison he'd been emotionally weak and angry with himself for living when death had called to him. He had stayed much longer than he ought to have, clinging to his penance because it had made him feel like he was in control of his destiny. Now that he was in a position to look back on himself and the beaten wizard he had allowed himself to become, Severus was disgusted. No wonder Hermione left. He hadn't deserved her.

Perhaps not, but she wasn't blameless either. The Prophet trashed her good name, and for that he could kill them, but they weren't entirely wrong either. She'd done her share as well. And now she was remorseful.

"She ought to be!" Severus raged, pacing before the fire place.

"Did you say something?" Ffoulkes asked, peeking his head around the door.

Severus didn't want the pity he saw in the old Solicitor's eyes, but at the same time he didn't want to be alone either. Nor did he want to drive off another friend. He'd done enough damage by driving off Hermione. Why on Gaia's green earth had she given him an ultimatum? Hadn't she realized he hated ultimatums? That he acted contrary just to be contrary? No, Hermione was stupidly Gryffindor and certain of herself. She had been certain of their relationship and willing to stake everything upon it. Severus had been the damned fool who questioned it.

"My wife," he sighed heavily. "I can't locate her."

Ffoulkes furrowed his brow and rubbed his nose. If he had anything to say about him calling Hermione 'his wife,' he wisely kept his own counsel.

"Have you tried her assistant? I think every time Margret has booked an appointment with her, it's been through her assistant... Jeremy something?"

"Jacob," Severus corrected, a smirk pulling up one side of his lips. "Jacob Edwards." And Severus knew right then, he had her.

He got back down on his knees before the dusty Floo, dirtied by twenty different frantic Floo calls to locate his wife, and pulled the powder box closer to him. It was full enough for at least thirty calls, and he would hound the wizard all night if he had to.

It turned out that Jake didn't need coaxing to talk to Severus Snape. He was thrilled to get involved with, in his words, 'a super ooey-gooey plot.'

Severus heard how she was an utter wreck; it was not any news. Then he listened to Jake rattle on about packing her off to Australia. Severus was heartily not amused and would have threatened the wizard bodily, had he not assured Severus that she was returning in a few days, and that Jake would do all in his power to reunite the couple.

But first, Severus had to face the witch.

"Hm… you know," Jake went on gesturing quickly, "I bet I can export her Outlook calendar into Word and email it to you. Even if it won't let me export, I bet I can copy and paste it."

"I'm not going to pretend to know what you're talking about."

"Oh, well, you're going to at least need her schedule if you hope to catch up with her. She's been babbling on about marrying some long-in-the-tooth wizard with one foot in the grave, you know. So, if you're going to run off and save the Princess you'd better get on it, sweet Knight."

Jake pinched his brow. If Hermione discovered he was helping Snape, she'd put his bits in a blender. But the witch was off the continent and in no shape to decide what was best for her, he rationalized. Both were very sound excuses for a little harmless plotting.

Jake closed the Floo connection and sighed to himself, turning towards her yellow-eyed Half-Kneazle licking a paw, he said, "Oy vey. Hufflepuffs would never be this much trouble." Then again, his badger buddies wouldn't approve of his high treason. Dreamily, Jake wondered if Snape would make him an honorary Slytherpuff for this.

As the grate held the dying embers of his connection, Severus nodded to himself. Her schedule would be helpful. He'd just have to make sure he cornered her in a public place. He didn't think she'd be able to reject him in front of spectators.

Less than twelve hours out from prison, and already Severus had the hatchings of a nefarious plot to reclaim his wife. Not that he'd resort to a potion to lure her back, but somehow Severus was confident that he would only have to show up and she'd throw herself at him. Everyone said so.

Hermione was a mess without him.

It was the reason why he'd left Azkaban. To save her. She needed help. She needed him. And knowing that she was miserable without him meant he still had a shred of a chance. And if there was even a Billywig's ass of a chance to get Hermione back, he'd take it. He had hurt her, callously and unjustly - he'd treated her the way he was accustomed to being treated by others, but he could fix all that if she let him.

Besides, the Ministry was only discussing repealing the Marriage Law, meaning she was still beholden to it until it was abolished. What would Hermione do if he swept in and saved her? She would have to be grateful to him - there just weren't many suitable wizards still available. And even if he was working the damned law to his own advantage again, he knew Hermione wanted him. Everyone said so.

He imagined Hermione becoming overwhelmed with seeing him outside the prison, in real daylight. She would swoon when he declared his undying love for her and proposed marriage. And he could already envision her thanking him for saving her from some wrinkly old wizard, possibly with that wickedly talented mouth of hers.

There was the most enormous bed in the Master's chambers, large enough for four mistresses, if he was so inclined. It would be damned difficult to tie her up spread eagle on it, but maybe - just maybe - he could tackle her and roll around on it with her. Perhaps even lower it a few inches. And by gods, the things he could do with her in that absurdly massive shower. It begged to be broken in.

Yes, Severus decided. His wife would be his again. He felt it in his bones. They belonged together. Perhaps she _was_ his gift for his long years of self-denial. Regardless, he was going to find his witch and claim her properly. Severus was confident. For the first time in years, he was confident. They would finally be together. Then he'd drill a Hermione-shaped indentation into the mattress. And Severus had a lot of mattress to work with.

A/N:  
Chapter title: Obesa Cantavit - The fat lady has sung. In honor of our dear Warden Blotts. Say 'Goodbye,' Warden - I believe that was your swansong.

Elizabeth Cole is the cameo characterization of FascinatingSnape who won the book title contest with Ex Intempestivo Pax. Many congratulations, and thanks to FascinatingSnape for her help.

Christev, beta-extrordinaire and marathon Lake Michigan swimmer, lovingly beta'd this chapter, and for that I am grateful.

And thanks to everyone who has continued to read this little story (now only 10 chapters past where I thought it would end) and has looked forward to the day Severus would be set free. Thank you. AV


	54. Chapter 54

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 54 - Integer Vitae Scelerisque Purus**

Freedom, real and tangible for his taking held innumerable promises, and his imagination spun so many perfect scenarios of where life could lead him. Unlike when he had graduated Hogwarts, poor as a pauper, Hermione had managed his gold and made him unbelievably wealthy. The world really was his oyster. And his cage.

The witches would find him soon enough and descend upon him. He couldn't be seen in public without being mobbed. And unlike before, he was unable to hex them.

Damned Ministry probation. Damned public spotlight. Aside from the fact that he was now so high profile and unaccountably rich, he was likely to get sued for each and every little hex and Dark Arts curse he threw. That was likely to clear him out of Galleons within weeks. There was no justice in the world.

He just knew he had to flee to someplace where he couldn't be found. And as supportive as Ffoulkes was, his presence was too much of a reminder of the prison. Ffoulkes finally left him, after asking for the fifth time (and amazingly, not getting punched) if he was 'alright to be left alone.' Of course he was, Severus snorted. He was a grown wizard, not someone who needed coddling... so what if he felt creeped out all the time?

The moment Ffoulkes gave into his demand to let a wizard have his privacy, the Homestead fell awkwardly silent.

The Homestead did not belong to him. It was haunted by _her_. Hermione left lingering traces of herself everywhere, and it was a pitiful reminder that it was her home. Every room reflected her vision of the life she had planned for them. Staying was out of the question.

He could not remain a moment longer, he had to leave, so Severus summoned the house-elves.

The elves gathered as a household for his review in the great hall, and Severus was astounded by their numbers. He knew that there had been unrestrained breeding in the absence of a Master, but was unprepared to see them all together. And by the heaps of gangly Elfkins, Hermione had done nothing at all to the limit their reproduction or destroy nests. Damn her. The Homestead did not have enough work to gainfully employ all of them, and idle elves were dangerous to themselves and their Masters.

Instead they had proliferated and been dressed up like little dolls. The females wore pink gingham pinafore aprons and the males wore blue gingham britches. Frankly, Severus couldn't be arsed to care what they wore as long as it covered their little elf bits. Elf genitalia was disgusting enough to put any wizard off sex.

"Master, beloved son of noble birth," an elf squeaked, proudly gesturing towards the gathering. "Daisy presents the Prince Household."

"This is me mate, Donald." Donald bowed low and twitched his over-sized ears and Severus rolled his eyes.

"Just stop," Severus commanded as the next set of elves came forward to introduce themselves. He was in no mood for a joyful reunion and seriously doubted he'd ever learn their names anyway. "I am not remaining in the Homestead. I will require an elf to attend me when I leave."

The elves began to shiver in anticipation, no doubt excited by the prospect of rinsing out his socks in a foreign location. His thumb ghosted thoughtfully across his jaw in contemplation, as the sea of anxious elves panted before him, except for one short elf hiding in the back. He wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't stuck out from the rest by looking thoroughly disinterested. Severus also noticed she wore her checkered apron inside-out so that only the white lining showed. Apparently she disliked pink.

"That one," he pointed emphatically.

The stubby elf's green eyes widened in alarm and she grumbled, "bloody hell."

Severus smirked and strode off. He wasn't entirely certain where he was headed, but he wasn't about to stick around.

* * *

So it came to be, not that Severus had any clue how it came to be, but Severus found himself living on a camp bed strangely reminiscent of his old Azkaban mattress, minus the stains, in Jake Edwards' basement. Jake Edwards, the milk-livered Hufflepuff twit's basement. It was unheated, save warming charms, poorly lit without Illumination spells, quiet except when the house above was not, and accumulated dust regardless of how many cleaning spells were cast. Hermione's yellow-eyed, ankle-biting monster managed the mouse problem quite well, which was really fine with him, because outside of Azkaban he had no desire to save the fates of rats and mice any longer. Let the diseased rodents die. Severus freely admitted to having a strong personal bias against rats.

On the whole Severus found it most hospitable and suited him just fine.

Tink, the Homestead elf, was adjusting well enough, Severus supposed. Not that he'd bother to ask her if she was happy about it. Her saucer-shaped eyes had critically assessed their humble accommodations before she shrugged and built her pallet. And Tink managed to keep the basement relative clean, when she could be arsed to clean. The moment he brought her to Edwards' Victorian home, she had looked at him with baleful eyes and snarked, "Tink is a garden-elf," and he hadn't heard a word from her since.

Apparently she didn't 'do' housework. Her main occupation appeared to be smoking behind the garden shed with the soft-bellied Hufflepuff.

While Hermione was off the continent, Jake ranted and raved about the high drama of resurrecting Granger Industries. Severus had half a mind to throttle the wizard, except he was a marvelous gourmet chef, and was gone most of the time to oversee the rebuilding of the production line. Jake kept his home, which he had taken to calling a half-way house for the lost – whatever that meant, spotless and relatively quiet. And when Severus took mid-afternoon snoozes he could nearly imagine he was back in his cell.

In the basement, only the ever-present sound of the waves was absent, and Severus found that most uncomfortable of all. The constant white-noise was something his mind reached out to for comfort, and when the eerie silence of the empty house tickled his senses, Severus found it deeply disturbing. But he knew he'd adjust.

Life outside of Azkaban required adjustment, and Jake was assisting him in getting there. The Hufflepuff clown was attempting to teach him how to use one of the damnable computers that Hermione doted on. It was 'hooked up' and 'linked in' which truly was absurd because it had neither chains nor hooks attached, but Severus was managing as best he could, given the circumstance. He was rather proud of himself, actually. The contraption was clearly not made of glass, and yet was called a Window. It made noises at him which were really uncalled for, and the one time the entire painting went blue Jake swore up a storm, and that at least was highly entertaining.

Still, Severus asserted, he was here. He was alive. And he was surviving. At least until Hermione came home, because Severus hadn't a clue how to deal with her other than feel uncontrollably melancholy at the most inconvenient of times, so perhaps it was for the best that she was on the other side of the planet.

While she was away, Severus did attempt to get to know and understand his young wife. The Hufflepuff called it snooping, but then he was an idiot. There was an entire world of difference between snooping and reconnaissance, being a nosy parker and gathering targeted data, meddling and research.

While incarcerated, Severus received what filtered knowledge he had about her from what she brought him. He was entirely dependent upon her for information and material goods to maintain his lifestyle. Yes, it was a prison and it was not meant to be a lavish lifestyle, but he refused to dwell on that notion any longer, he was moving onwards – adapt, overcome, and whatnot. Now he found himself drawn to the miniaturized boxes stacked in her guest room.

The most unsurprising non-newsworthy piece of information was that Hermione had an entire library worth of books. What did rattle Severus was how many of them were self-help books, both wizarding and Muggle. Hermione didn't seem like the witch to need advice on how to be a better person; she was perfect, in absolutely every way… His gift from the Gods. His Vixen…

He read her books. She dog-eared books, which was an old habit of his he had grown out of in his maturity and had developed into something of a pet peeve. She also underlined and highlighted passages, which was truly intolerable, except Severus found himself reading those pages and passages more than other. He traced her pencil marks with his fingers and imagined her absorbed in thought, marking what meant most to her. However, mostly Severus took to scowling.

All of the self-help books she favored readily proclaimed that if she only just managed her time more efficiently she could have the career she always imagined, the spotless house she dreamed of, a perfect and equitable marriage, well-behaved children, and she would still have plenty of time left over to take a few college classes at her leisure. When Severus spotted the chapter extolling 'Marriage is a Partnership,' he growled… then read it twice.

The day Hermione was due to return Severus was an utter wreck. Dementors hadn't scared him as terribly. The Dark Lord… perhaps. Hermione was a different kettle of fish altogether.

"Where were you?" Severus demanded, as soon as the clown walked through the door carrying groceries. "You were supposed to be home early."

He paced like a caged animal. He fucking felt like a caged animal.

Jake set his bags down and shrugged out of his worn jacket before rolling his eyes. "Uh, work? Shopping? You know, things people do to maintain a living."

Jake sniffed delicately in Severus' direction. The wizard was looking much better than before, but wore the same air of neglect as Hermione had. Jake washed and rinsed his hands before wiping them off on his faded jeans.

"May I ask what you did today?"

Severus grumbled unintelligibly, feeling quite put out, as if he were being talked to like a small child.

"Hm…? What was that, I can't hear you."

"I said I worked on the adjusted projections."

"Did you use the software I showed you?" A glare answered Jake for all his troubles. "Right. I didn't think so." He shook his head, disappointed by the dark brooding wizard.

Severus was ready with his argument that Arithmancy was faster when the sassafras-tailed twit walked right past him ignoring his scowl. Severus swore if the tea wasn't superb and the accommodations weren't so... accommodating, he'd pack up and leave. Certainly, he wasn't sticking around for such abuse.

When Jake waltzed back through the swinging kitchen doors carrying a large soup tureen Severus pounced.

"I wasn't finished talking with you –"

"Oh?" he interrupted heading towards the swinging doors once more. "I thought you had. My bad. Fine! Inferi versus Ghosts. Bodies without souls. Souls without bodies. Who would win that fight? Talk amongst yourselves."

The empty doors swung on their hinges and Severus glanced about him, wondering who else other than the scruffy, bottlebrush tomcat was in the room that qualified as 'yourselves' and found none. In another life Severus would have been ready to dissect, harvest, and pickle the wizard. He was, sadly, willing to concede that he was a slight Veela-hair off his game since leaving Azkaban.

Jake sailed back in again, levitating a brazier behind him. Unaware of, or unconcerned by, the murderous glare Severus was giving him. Any of his Slytherins would have recognized the pulsing blue vein in his forehead as a sign of bad things to come. And yet Edwards appeared entirely unaffected. Nitwit.

"You were gone for hours!" Severus stormed. His belated rage took a bit of the wind out of his sails, but he could manage to be threatening as necessary. Jake, who was peeling carrots over the sink, didn't bother to turn around and appreciate his sinister stare.

"Oh sweet Sheba!" Jake flailed. "I was busy at the auto shop having my wallet molested by a short, hairy mechanic named Red. Give it a rest, Severus. I have to get Hermione's Welcome-Back dinner ready. Now scoot! I'll bring you left-overs later. If you're hungry now there's still some roast in the fridge."

"The roast is gone," Severus bickered. It was delicious. Rosemary rubbed with creamed horseradish sauce made an excellent mid-day repast.

"All of it?" Jake exclaimed, looking pointedly at Severus' trim abdomen, expecting him to suddenly plump. "Oy-vey. I'll fix something up now."

"I can cook," he argued.

Jake slumped against the countertop and pointed at an oversized plastic breadbox. "What's that?"

Severus hated shrugging, on rare occasions his nose twitched convulsively, but he did not shrug. "It is a breadbox." He said it with a cool air of confidence, which typically worked when concealing ignorance.

"It is a microwave. It makes frozen-food."

"You eat frozen food?" Severus asked, repulsed.

"I prove my point. Now, unless you're going to peel carrots, get out of my kitchen."

Severus stood, towering appropriately over the much younger wizard, his arms crossed in an appropriately menacingly way, and allowed his glittering black eyes to rest on his shorter stature, in what he hoped was an appropriately dangerous manner. The Hufflepuff was supposed to come to the correct conclusion that his life was indeed in jeopardy, except that he grabbed a bag of potatoes.

Severus began peeling carrots.

After many minutes of comfortable silence and meditative chopping Jake spoke up.

"You're not going to lose her, you know."

"I've already lost her," Severus replied, his eyes firmly fastened to julienning the carrots. They would be  
perfect. Absolutely perfect. For her. He clenched his jaw to stay focused.

"Nah. She just lost her way. Give her some time and she'll come round. Besides, anyone who's stayed more than three days with their parents is ready for positive change."

He didn't have Jake's confidence. He didn't have much faith in his ability to convince the witch either. Short of a highly illegal potion that made Liquid Sunshine feel like a first year Calming Draught, he didn't know what would convince the witch to accept him back.

Blatherskite, absolute twaddle, began pouring from his lips as a weakly constructed damn began breaking apart again, while a large pile of julienned carrots grew to epic proportions. Every random thought, each aching twist around his heart became vocalized drivel, and Jake let him prattle on.

Jake was tying up the lamb when Severus began to run out of steam.

"You could tell her all of this," he offered gently, taking one handful of matchstick carrots.

Severus turned to him, appalled, and gawked in an unseemly manner, but no matter how hard he tried, more words would not form, just embarrassing sounds of disbelief from the back of his throat.

Jake shrugged. "Women want the truth from their men. And don't underestimate the power of a good emotional outpouring. The more the humbling – the better. All women like big tough masculine men to a certain degree, but at the end of the day, they all need the reassurance that they're loved, appreciated, and wanted. So things didn't go so well for the two of you before?" he shrugged as if Severus' annulment was a minor emotional speed bump. "Fix it."

"I don't know how," Severus quietly confessed.

"Eh, you'll figure it out. Just tell her some of what you told me and you'll get there."

As he trudged heavily down the plank staircase to his basement dwelling, one hand holding a highly oxymoronic steaming plate of hot frozen-food, the other hand carrying a cup mountainously full of julienned carrots, Severus breathed a little easier. Even if it was musty basement air. Soon his wayward witch would be above him, and hopefully soon enough, she'd be beside him.

* * *

Every thirty seconds or so, Jake nervously glanced at his wristwatch. "She's arrived," he muttered. He flicked on the back porch light, and pushed aside the kitchen curtains, waiting for the crack of her Apparition. It came moments later. Jake hastened to the door and held it out for her as Hermione walked on still uneasy feet to the kitchen table and plopped ungracefully into a chair. In her hand she was still clutching the squashed diet soda can Portkey.

"You look beat," Jake remarked. He had hoped that an Australian vacation would do the witch some good. Connect with her roots and all that, but by the dark circled evidence under her eyes, visiting with the 'rents didn't go so well.

Hermione gave a weak smile. "I'm just tired of traveling." She gave as a pitiful excuse. Just then her nose picked up the warm scent of dinner wafting in from the formal dining room, it was perfectly ready and didn't need a single stasis charm. Hermione's stomach did a flip-flop. "Jake, you do realize that I had brunch before I left. I'm not hungry," she said apologetically.

Jake pouted, and Hermione knew he had spent time and effort into a welcome back dinner, ignoring the fact that she was traveling from the other side of the world and would need days to adjust to the change in time zone. That, and mimosas with mum had definitely thrown her.

She hadn't exactly expected a happy Granger family reunion, but once mum had stopped screaming, she wanted to make up for lost time and bond. Hermione wasn't certain what was worse. The screaming she understood. The need for ten hour a day shopping marathons to buy unmentionables and have conversations about their respective sex lives (or in her case, the lack thereof) was draining. She had spent the last week playing Saffy to her mother's Edina.

"Can I get you anything?" Jake asked concerned.

"A length of rope and a rickety stool?" Hermione asked hopefully. At Jake's disapproving look Hermione sighed. "I'm fine, Jake, just tired. Give me a moment to freshen up and I'll tell you about my trip."

Hermione padded off to the guest room she had essentially made into her home and enlarged her trunks. Even magically expanding, Hermione had needed another trunk just to fit all the dainties her mother had insisted she buy. Hermione had been too browbeaten and guilt-tripped by that point to argue, even though she knew the likelihood of anyone seeing her sassy knickers within the century was slim to nil.

Crookshanks was regally lounging in the center of her bed when she walked in, and Hermione paused to assess the beast. "Am I forgiven?" she asked tentatively. It was a question she had repeated numerous times over the recent days. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and began to stroke the half-Kneazle.

Crooks tried valiantly to appear unaffected until Hermione scritched just that right spot beneath his ear, and the proud tom purred in delight. It wasn't Horntail pate, Crooks woefully reflected, turning on his back and showing his fluffy belly while he was in the mood for a good rubbing, but his mistress knew how to get to him when he was weak. The dark wizard hiding in the basement was good for a scratch here and there, but his familiar was tops when it came to knowing his vulnerable spots. All too soon for Crooks' preference, Hermione withdrew and set her bags unpacking.

She reemerged later looking more refreshed, and sighed at the sight of the fully packed dining table waiting for her.

"You're still not hungry," Jake muttered disappointed.

"Ah, no."

"Well at least have a handful of carrots. We have oodles of them," Jake said in a voice that conveyed she didn't have any choice in the matter, as he handed her a bowlful.

Jake grabbed a bottle of the perfectly chilled white, and followed Hermione out to the parlor where she had toed off her shoes and had her feet up.

"My dear," he said solicitously, handing her a glass.

"Thank you."

Hermione chewed thoughtfully on a few crisp carrot sticks, and took a sip of wine. The pairing was odd, but Hermione could have cared less. She was feeling a bit road-beaten, and was very glad to come home. Even if it wasn't really her home.

"I was hoping your trip would do you some good," Jake began, noting with approval the slight improvement in her coloring.

"It was," Hermione hastened. She pulled a slight face at the overly sweet Riesling that Jake favored, but said nothing. She and Severus both favored bold reds with heady tannins, but _he_ was not a topic up for discussion, even in the comforts of her own mind. "My parents were glad to see me. The memory charms were fading - from time, I suppose."

Hermione's lips twitched and Jake was wise enough to sense she was not proud by that fact. Fading charms was the result of poor wand work or lack of intention. Though neither would suggest Hermione could ever have poor wand work, lack of intention in memory-modifying her parents was a definite possibility. Still, it called into question her abilities as a witch.

Severus listened to the faint voices overhead and considered casting an amplification spell. Several times his eyes cut to the wand stuffed up his sleeve, and he'd have whipped it out and cast the spell, if his damned conscience hadn't decided to use that moment to make an appearance. It was wrong for him to listen at doors and peer into locks.

But it was his Hermione.

Severus cast the spell and focused his attention on the room above his head.

Tink, upset at being ushered out of the house proper, pulled up a crate and rickety table in front of the wizard who'd fastened his gaze on the dusty ceiling. When Severus glanced down to sort out the source of the racket, Tink was dealing out cards. A questioning eyebrow arched at the diminutive elf before he picked up his hand.

Hermione took another sip and laid her head back on the sofa cushion. "I knew retrieving them wasn't going to be easy. I guess that's why I put it off for so long."

"And?" Jake prompted.

"And, it was miserable. I can't even begin to tell you how upset Mum was that I didn't restore her memories the same day Lord Voldemort died. You would have thought I had kept them in a dark dungeon all these years."

"You did send them to a former penal colony," he glibly supplied.

"Hush," Hermione chided. "That's just the thing, they _love_ Australia. They have no interest in returning whatsoever, and yet they still resent me for it."

Below her feet Severus snorted, and re-sorted his cards. He was only playing with half interest, but he was positive the fang-toothed blighter was cheating at cards. House-elves weren't supposed to do that.

Jake rolled his eyes. "Hm, wonder why," he idly commented.

Hermione sank deeper into the cushions, her face coloring up slightly. "I know," she mumbled, low enough that Severus had to strain to hear her, "I'm a wretched daughter. And I guess I just thought that… well, I knew they wouldn't be happy about me leaving them there, but I didn't really expect them to hate me."

Her parents had never held her back from anything she wanted to do. They bestowed all their love and affection on their only child, and Hermione grew up believing that in their eyes, she could do no wrong. For the first time in her life, they weren't 100% supportive of her choice.

"They hate you? "

"No, of course not. They're my parents," Hermione sheepishly muttered.

"Then I don't get it," Jake replied dumbly.

Hermione sighed deeply, and pinched her brow as Severus was often wont to do, and she shook her mind free of the man. "They are …disappointed. Wretchedly disappointed. Even though they hadn't wanted to leave Australia, I abandoned them for five years." Jake nodded sympathetically. "I know you've never met my parents, but disappointing them, hurting them, is so much worse than anything else I can think of."

"That's pretty universal, Hermione."

"I guess what's awful is that I really had to make amends with my parents. And I don't think a few shopping trips and margaritas with Mum is going to really do it. I already know I'm expected back for Christmas, and Dad's birthday, and well… it's going to take a long time before I'm back in their good graces."

Jake nodded again.

Tink cackled and called 'Gin.'

The house-elf was definitely cheating.

Tears were beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes, and Jake pulled a folded handkerchief out of his back pocket in anticipation. "I didn't expect this whole atonement thing to be so difficult," she began to snuffle. "I thought they'd want me back so much, they'd accept me."

Hermione took the proffered handkerchief with a weak smile. Severus replaced his handkerchief back into his breast pocket, realizing the action was futile.

Severus had made penance look easy, she mournfully reflected. Now that she had trodden a so-called mile in his shoes, Hermione began to appreciate his choice. It wasn't the easy path. And forgiveness wasn't instantly forthcoming. At least with her parents she had a better idea as to when she was absolved, but Hermione also recognized they might never trust her again.

Slowly she began to understand, that maybe after lots of work on her part, the damage done to their relationship might mend, but her family would never be the same.

Penance sucked.

* * *

A/N:  
Chapter title: Integer Vitae Scelerisque Purus - Blameless of life and free from crime

Christev beta'd this chapter, as she has tirelessly beta'd every chapter - because she's wonderful like that. But I'm so thrilled to mention, she's also a writer now, and she has posted a few short fics on TPP. Congratulations love!

Thank you to all the well-wishers. Today's chest x-ray showed the pneumonia is gone. I appreciate your love and support. Thank you for staying with this fic, your wonderful reviews keep my happily typing along (as evidenced by the fact that I'm now 60,000 words over earlier projections...) Schmootches! AV


	55. Chapter 55

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 55 - Libenter Homines Id Quod Volunt Credunt**

His eyes were drawn repeatedly to the small print calendar in front of him, even as he attempted to make polite conversation with the milk-livered twit. Hermione had the afternoon blocked for 'courtship,' and Severus couldn't suppress his contempt for the printout. On the whole, his razor-sharp skills at masked indifference were rather dull. The Dark Lord would have cracked his head like an egg in seconds. Every thought was being broadcast for the world at large. Or at least for Jake and the knee-high she-devil Tink, who was decidedly not doing housework or gardening, for that matter.

"And that should bring us current with our outstanding contracts," the Hufflepuff finished.

"Pardon?" Severus asked, before gritting his teeth, admonishing his own lack of focus and secretly cringing under Jake's look of reproach.

"You haven't paid attention to a word I've said," Jake exasperatedly wailed.

Jake owned thirty percent of Granger Industries and still the lovelorn duo paid him no mind, and only a passing amount of respect. He had half a mind to toss them both out on the streets and let them duke it out themselves. Jake mentally paused, considering selling tickets and media rights to the fight of the century that whole business with Voldemort excluded, naturally). He'd clear hundreds in concessions alone. Jake reeled himself back in and re-focused on the wizard who was burning a hole in Hermione's schedule with his fierce eyes.

"She's not serious about him, you know," Jake soothed. "It's just to appease the Ministry, to show she's actively seeking. I'm sure they'll repeal this law before she has to do anything drastic, like marry the wizard."

Severus turned all of his considerable anger upon him, and Jake wisely shut up. He knew when he could provoke him, and push at his buttons just a bit, but when the wizard actually growled… that was a very clear warning that Jake was stepping too hard on tender nerves. Like the popping blue vein bulging from his temple, Jake absently thought.

Tink looked eagerly between the two wizards, suddenly more interested in impending bloodshed than her 1994 Seed Catalogue. Tink was rather fond of the pudgier wizard who smelled of citrus than the dark angry 'Master,' but that didn't mean she wasn't thrilled to see a good jugular ripping.

The Master flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. Tink eyed the situation and considered the effort of getting popcorn. But then seemed to visibly deflate, his erect posture stooping, and all the fight escaping him. Tink narrowed her eyes, muttered "Tink didn't want popcorn anyway," and turned her attention back to the pictures of turnips.

"She's my wife," Severus sighed. It was a phrase he'd used multiple times over the last several days, and Jake had neither the heart nor the powerful shielding charm to correct him.

"She's just doing what she has to do to keep up appearances." Jake winced slightly as the words tripped out, fearing he'd said the wrong thing again. "You know she's required to do this. And until you make your grand entrance and sweep her off her feet, well…" Jake's voice trailed helplessly. He'd given Severus numerous pieces of advice on wooing Hermione, but they'd been discarded. Personally, Jake was beginning to think Severus was being a wuss, which was really saying a lot, coming from a Hufflepuff.

"I don't know what to do," Severus painfully admitted. "I just want this to end. I shouldn't have to woo her."

Jake cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.

Severus swore lightly under his breath, and prepared himself to confess something he hadn't admitted to anyone.

"She filed for annulment on the basis that we hadn't consummated the relationship."

Severus challenged Jake with his eyes, daring the less magically gifted wizard to mock his manhood.

Jake shrugged. "And? It's Azkaban warding. Everyone knows that now," He gestured silently to the stack of Prophets extolling Severus' virtue and Hermione's villainy.

Severus cringed. If he ever got his hands on those viper-tongued reporters, he'd use all three Unforgiveables. His sex life, or lack thereof was not headline fodder.

"That's precisely the issue," Severus dryly remarked. "I can provide irrefutable Pensieve testimony to the contrary."

"The binding charms were never finalized," Jake said confused.

Severus grimaced, unwilling to enumerate further. Jake's eyes widened. "You slept with her," he said giddily, eagerly jumping to conclusions. "The warding only prevented you from… you know."

"Indeed," Severus remarked, fascinated with a thread hanging from his cuff.

"And?" Jake asked stupidly.

"So, she's still my wife." Severus was rapidly losing all patience. Discussing bedding his bride was on par with chaperoning a Slug Club function. Tink looked up hopefully. Her nails were sharp enough to tear flesh, and she hadn't been in a good scrap since she left the Homestead. But at least that Goblin-fucker Donald knew better than to touch her pruning shears.

Jake sighed heavily and his head crashed into his palms.

"I should think a petition to the Wizengamot…"

"No," Jake interrupted hastily.

"What?"

"No," Jake restated emphatically. "Don't be stupid about this Severus. My god, you're just as bad as Hermione. You people really deserve each other," he muttered.

"But she is still my wife," he railed, pointing brusquely to the thin gold band sitting on his left hand.

"I heard you the first time, pookie, but you can't haul Hermione before the courts and undo an annulment. Even if they rule in your favor, which is likely, given how everyone is tripping over their robes to kiss your pale and pasty ass – Hermione won't forgive you. Rebinding her to you, especially against her will, is not endearing. She'll hate you for it, and that witch knows how to carry a grudge. Half the reason why we have such assholes for distributors is because she refuses to do business with the Edgecombe company because of some stupid school feud with one of the cousins. Honestly, Severus, you don't want a marriage built on resentment."

"But she's miserable without me," he whispered. He might as well have been talking about himself. He missed his wife.

"Agreed. The witch hasn't gotten over you yet."

"Yet?" Severus asked startled.

Jake smiled weakly. "You haven't exactly ridden in on your white horse yet, Prince Charming. Of course she's hurting. Her heart was broken, but time, ice cream, liquor, and enough moping about, and eventually she'll move on. All women eventually do."

Severus stared vacantly at the crystal bowl holding tart apples on the table, without really seeing them. Lily had cast him off. She'd shed their friendship like a snake shed old skin. Oh, there had been a few wistful looks glanced across the Potions classroom and Quidditch pitch. These longing moments had kept him hopeful and waiting for a reconciliation that never came. Lily had moved on. Severus had not. Nor could he bear the thought with Hermione. His heart could not survive it.

"So," Jake said in an overly chipper voice, hoping to dispel Severus' abysmal mood. "No more talk of hauling Hermione into court. She was granted her annulment and you've just got to leave it at that. But how to win the fair maiden's heart again? Hm? Before she gets over you." Jake's face scrunched up. "Or before she rebounds with some wrinkly old geezer."

Severus' eyes widened and they were drawn back to the word 'courtship' on her calendar.

Contrary to what the Hufflepuff idiot believed, Hermione was still his wife, and he would _not_ allow her to 'get over' him. He'd put off persuing his witch for far too long, afraid of cocking it all up. Belatedly, he realized the clock was ticking. As he sat around, Hermione could be snogging her new fiancée.

Her schedule crumpled in Severus' fist.

* * *

Bored out of her ever-loving mind, Hermione bit into a slice of melon and choked. Behold the man. Severus Snape himself stood at the maître d's podium. He looked distinctly uncomfortable as he scanned the dining room, possibly because every witch was giving him their full and complete attention. Hermione wondered if diving under the table was an acceptable option. No. Shit. His fierce gaze locked in on her. Shit. She was seen. Hermione glanced over at her brunch date, wondering if he would notice her Disapparating from the table. He probably wouldn't, but Hermione was responsible for making sure he got a ride home. The nurses would have a fit if she left him, and he'd probably wander off again. Damn it.

Severus Snape glided smoothly across the room, seemingly at ease in his elegance. Hermione didn't know what was wrong with the picture until suddenly it occurred to her and she blinked. She hadn't seen him really stretch his legs since her school days. The cell hadn't the room for pacing without eliminating the precious comforts such as bed and bookcase.

She swallowed thickly. She had done that. She had eliminated the precious comforts. That wasn't a place she wanted to dwell upon. She'd been ready to reward herself with a Flourish and Blotts (of no relation to Warden Blotts) shopping trip for keeping her her body clean and presentable and her mind far away from the North Sea. And yet here he was, in her face, ruining all the avoidance and denial she had built up in her mind. Bastard.

Severus bowed courteously to the dining couple. Hermione snacked half-heartedly on a fruit cup and bran muffin, her bibbed date eating about the same.

"May I join you?"

"What are you thinking?" Hermione hissed in a soft voice. She was very aware of the attention they were getting from the room. Well, her date hadn't cottoned on yet, but that was negligible. "No, of course you may not join us. We're on a date." To punctuate her statement, in case he hadn't noticed, Hermione jabbed her spoon in the direction of the wizard who hadn't looked up from his soft mandarin orange slices.

"Charming, Hermione," Severus sat anyway. He'd been sucker-punched when he heard she was dating again, but after sizing up his competition he was more inclined to laugh at the absurdity. "I see you've moved on. How is the dating scene these days?"

"Fuck you, Snape," Hermione growled.

Both wizards looked sharply up at the ill-tempered witch. Her date noticed another diner at their table.

Severus ground his teeth. He was going about this all wrong. Damn and blast. He couldn't goad or bully Hermione into what he pleased anymore. That chapter of his life had been very firmly closed. What had he said to that Hufflepuff the night he had spouted drivel? They were ridiculously in-tune with their - and everyone else's - touchy-feely emotions.

"Hermione, won't you introduce me to the wizard who's won your favor?"

"Fine," she muttered uncharitably. With as little courtesy as possible she said dully, "Severus Snape, meet Aristotle Dirkins. Aristotle, this is Severus."

Hermione motioned to a passing service-elf. "Can I get the check?"

"What an honor to meet you," Severus clapped his hand on the wizend old man's shoulders. "I'm a big fan of your works on logic."

"Idiot. He's not that old, and you know it."

"Could have fooled me."

"Why did you come here, Snape? Tell me now, so you can go away."

She had her check in hand and coins out when panic set in. He'd been overconfident and was trying too hard not to sound desperate. He had heard she missed him. Was making herself ill for want of him. Couldn't function because she missed him so. He had allowed himself to believe she needed a hero. Needed him to swoop in and fix things, make the hurt all better. Severus swallowed. He had missed his opportunity. There was no time for a sweeping dramatic gesture. A warm embrace. And she certainly wouldn't beg for him, either. He was too late. There'd be no tearful romantic reunion. She wasn't going to brokenly sob, 'You came for me Severus. I've been sick without you,' before she kissed him. Painfully, Severus wished to curl up on his fetid cot, stare at his stone walls, and listen to the sound of the sea take his mind away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered lowly.

"You're sorry? That's all you have to say? I'm sorry."

"Pardon me witch; it's not a sentiment I'm accustomed to expressing."

She snorted. "What a piss-poor excuse for an apology. After all …this …this …this, whatever this is, all you've got to say is you're sorry? Well, too bloody bad. It's not right, Severus!" her voice rose shrilly, making Severus wince. A flash bulb went off in the background, indicating the Prophet had finally caught up with him. "You should have done a lot more than say you're sorry a long time ago. I'm not interested in your sentiments anymore."

"Witch," he hissed, "You're making a scene."

"That's not making a scene. _This_ is making a scene!" Hermione flipped him a rude Muggle gesture he was certain to recognize, as more flashbulbs went off, then she grabbed Aristotle and hauled him up before Disapparating from the restaurant.

* * *

"And why did you tell him to fuck off?" Jake asked with an inquiring eyebrow, pointing to the grizzly scene captured for posterity on the front of the Special Edition 'Lovers in Limbo' Evening Prophet.

Hermione didn't want to talk about it. Bashing her face into a throw pillow was helping, but not much.

"He apologized, didn't he?" Jake asked with a voice full of conviction.

Hermione might have been fooled by his 'intuition,' if she didn't have the overwhelming suspicion that Jake was aiding the enemy. Severus had been hot on her trail, and Jake was the only person who knew her whereabouts. Severus would have had to have seen her to cast a tracking spell on her, and she knew he hadn't.

She'd also been checking for tracking spells after the fucking Prophet had caught wind of a blood-splattered story between two of their favorite subjects. Readership was up, and the public loved every scintillating bit of it. Her private misery was public fodder.

Hermione wanted to blame Severus and his blasted book, but that reminded her of the fact that she was the person who had encouraged him to write it, found the publisher, and hounded him into signing the contract. So she blamed Luna.

"Didn't he?" Jake coaxed.

"Yes," Hermione admitted.

"And you made a scene without accepting his apology because...?"

Hermione sighed wearily. How was she supposed to explain it?

Hermione knew she partially had herself to blame, but blaming Severus was easier, especially when he was chasing after her to make amends. That didn't make much sense. But Hermione rationalized that if he hadn't been an incredible fuckhead who had rejected her and turned her plans of living happily ever after at the Homestead into a joke, they wouldn't be in this mess. It was simple: they should have left Azkaban together. Married. Ergo, he started it. He had to apologize for more. Denial was so much easier than acceptance.

The worst part was, her logical brain knew she was in denial, minimizing and rationalizing her actions. Her logical brain, through which she was tempted to drive an ice-pick, clearly believed she was behaving like a two year old. It was utter bollocks that she should have to put up with such a logical brain when she felt so out of control because of her illogical emotions. Damned brain.

"I didn't want his apology. He should have apologized when I asked him to leave Azkaban. He didn't have to belittle me or make fun of my ideas. All he had to say was, 'No.' I would have been fine with, 'No.'" She didn't believe that either, but it all rationalized quite nicely. "Besides, he shouldn't have cornered me in a public place like that. I might have listened to him if he hadn't tried to put me on the spot."

"Not to sound like a bitch, but aren't you being a tad melodramatic?" Jake chuffed. "He left prison to come rescue you, Princess."

Hermione shot her new business partner her best death-glare that always worked on Harry and Ron. Jake was immune. Damned business partner.

"He probably left prison to chase tail. Now that the great unsung war hero of the Light is unmarried, he's probably got offers of pussy right and left."

"Probably," Jake agreed, thumbing through shipping documents. Hermione sent him another death-glare, but he wasn't looking. "Everyone loves him now. The camera just eats him up; it's like sex all over the Prophet, just having his picture on the front page. They ought to sell it bagged up, or packaged in plain brown boxes. His dark aura and brooding manner attracts a lot of witches and wizards. I suppose they think he's deep and complicated."

"He is deep and complicated."

"No sugar, he's not. He's just a wizard worried sick about the witch he loves. It doesn't get more complex than that."

"He doesn't love me."

"Yes. Yes, he does."

"Well, he's never said it," she complained, adding it to the list of what Severus had to apologize for.

"Severus Snape, _the_ Severus Snape, just left prison and compromised his religious values and beliefs for you, witch, and you're arguing over three highly overrated little words? Sweet baby Jesus, woman, your denial knows no bounds. You're smart, Hermione, really smart. Possibly genius. Don't act stupid. You know he does. If he didn't, he wouldn't have traded Azkaban for you."

Hermione was silent for a long moment, and Jake was nearly convinced the conversation was over when she whispered low enough that Jake had to strain to hear her. "Is that supposed to be a compliment? He chooses me over a rotting jail cell?"

Jake rolled his eyes. "Good grief, girl. He traded his pride and self respect for you. You know this. You want this. What I don't understand is why you're still sitting here instead of making up with him. You're hurt. He gets it. I get it. We all get it. But if you keep rejecting him, you're only hurting yourself."

Hermione raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Don't argue with me, girl. I'm a Hufflepuff. We know all about these things. And before you start with denigrating Hufflepuff jokes, remember that more healers, therapists, and care-givers come from my House than all others combined. We know how to read people and understand their feelings. So why don't you show a little badger loyalty and go find your wizard, before I stop all my touchy-feely empathy and kick your whiny tuckas."

"It's not that easy!"

"Why not? Life is only as complicated as you make it."

"But we're not married anymore," Hermione moaned in near tears.

"And? Do you have to be? Personally, I think it could be a lot yummier this way. Go away together and have hot, sweaty, hotel make-up sex."

Hermione's face suffused with color, "I'm not going to have sex with him."

"Then don't. Kiss and make up, and have lots of frustrating frottage… Oh my God, I so totally need to get laid. He's not even my wizard and I'm getting all hot and bothered by this conversation. Go, Hermione. Go find your wizard and make things right. Have wonderfully nasty just-got-out-of-prison hotel sex or not. I don't care, but get your needs taken care of so you can run this company properly and I can have the time to get some nookie myself. Please, if you're not going to do it for you, do it for me. Someone's got to be gettin' some around here."

Hermione thought on that for a moment before heading for an early bedtime.

Once she had left, Jake put down his quill and sighed loudly. "Lordy, I just don't get paid enough for all of this." He snatched a dark blue folder off the sideboard. "…or maybe…"

* * *

The next morning, Hermione found herself stumbling out of the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron. None of the bleary-eyed morning drinkers chasing the hair of the dog paid any attention to her. For that she was eternally grateful. Out in public she often got stared at, or in the case of some deranged witches protecting Severus' honor, growled at or hexed. She never thought she'd see the day when Severus Snape was some exalted iconic figure and she was a social pariah. Hannah Longbottom, stacking pint glasses, smiled at her, and Hermione welcomed the kindness. Beautiful Hufflepuffs. She was beginning to like that House more and more.

She was on her way to a fitting for Ginny's wedding, and had to bear the jeering crowds for her. News of the Marriage Law had been relegated to the back pages in favor of puff articles featuring the handsome and dashing ex-spy for the Light, Severus Snape, running errands and scathing articles criticizing Hermione's character. But it appeared that the Law would soon be overturned. That was a massive relief, because she had thought she would be able to handle Aristotle as deftly as Parvati handled Niles, but she couldn't. She was also worried about breaking up with him. She wasn't certain if he'd notice at all or have heart failure, and there was something really quite wrong with both.

The Law that had upturned her life was going away. The geriatric wizards who had written the Law had found their child brides, and now it was being repealed. As simple as that. No 'We're sorry for royally fucking up your lives. We apologize for the inconvenience to all the witches who are still forcibly bound to old codgers like us.' Nothing. With her luck, and the slowly grinding wheels of Ministry justice, the Law would be officially repealed the day after she'd be forced to wed Aristotle.

On the bright side, Billy and Ginny were still planning their wedding. Gin had managed to tell her mother and brothers without a single hex cast. She did it by confessing to dear old dad first. There wasn't anything the Weasley father wouldn't do for his baby girl. That was typically the sort of thought that caused Hermione's heart to twinge in pain as she remembered her own father. But she now knew her Dad would support her no matter what as well. She knew this. Absolutely. Even if he was on the other side of the planet. Her parents had goggled when she suggested they move back to England and re-open their practice. Then her Mum checked her forehead for her temperature.

As she walked along the cobbled road, thankful for the early morning appointment that kept the street relatively free from potential gawkers, Hermione's mind skipped about. Jake's admonishments had struck deep.

It was ridiculous to chase after her ex-husband for sweaty hotel sex or even just a conversation. With a pang, she remembered she had gotten her marriage annulled. Like it had never happened. Their time together not even having taken place. She didn't know if she was entitled to call him her ex-husband. According to records, he had never been her husband.

She still thought she ought not to pursue him like another one of his insipid, doe-eyed fans. He should come to her. Preferably on bended knee, with flowers and diamonds. Or at least just one diamond.

No.

He had come for her and she had sent him away. Hermione figured she'd be lucky if he didn't hex her on sight like many of his supporters tried to do.

Jake was right. She knew the very moment she had heard that he had been released that he had given up his penance for her. Not for himself. For her. He had subsisted for years on nothing in that dank cell, living off of the occasional bilge rat and carrying on with life exactly the way he wanted, before she arrived. He could have gone back to that lifestyle without any problems.

It was Hermione who had been forever altered.

Well, now she knew they were about even in terms of who had hurt whom. Though, now she suspected she had more to apologize for. As she walked quietly down the shop-lined street bundled against the chill, studiously ignoring the pointed stares from pedestrians, she admitted she had been wrong. And deluded. And living in her denial, past the point where it made any sense.

They had both emotionally chased away, rejected, and chased after the other so many times she didn't know who was right… or perhaps just less wrong. Neither she nor Severus had acquitted themselves very well, and bad behavior seemed to be a trait they had in common.

They were probably even now, and she shouldn't expect him to drop to his knees, declaring her to be his salvation and one true love. Even though she wanted him to. She had no reason to hope he would do all of the apologizing either. Although she hoped he would.

If they were to make amends she'd have to swallow her pride as well. She just hoped she wasn't too late.

The bridal shop was full of redheaded Weasley cousins and a perturbed Fleur, who was pregnant again and evidently unhappy about the proceedings. When Ginny spotted Hermione, she rushed over and threw her arms around her as a signal to all the witches in the room that Hermione-bashing was not to be tolerated. She'd not have her Maid of Honor disrespected.

Hermione put on her brightest smile. Even if it was forced, she would do everything in her power to ensure Ginny had her happily-ever-after.

A/N:

Chapter title: Libenter homines id quod volunt credunt - Men gladly believe that which they wish for. (Caesar)

Special thanks goes to Christev20 for her brilliant beta job, and judging me 'Pervert of the Day' for 25 May 2009. Thank you, it's such an honor.

Schmootches to my readers! AV


	56. Chapter 56

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 56 - Cogito Sumere Potum Alterum**

As Maid of Honor, not Matron, it was Hermione's duty to plan Ginny's Hen-night, so she dutifully did. Gertrude Weasley, another redheaded cousin Hermione vaguely remembered from Bill and Phlegm's wedding, loudly whined about having it in Muggle London, but was told by the entire bridal party to put a cork in it. Apparently nobody liked Gertrude much or cared for her opinion. Not that Hermione would have paid her any mind one way or another. If Hermione could, she would have held the Hen-night quietly at the Burrow behind sixty anti-rat-bastard-reporter wards or, if needs must, Portkey everyone to Kathmandu.

But Ginny wanted a proper Hen-night filled with giggling drunken witches, bawdy games, and stupid penis-shaped party favors. And Hermione was obliged to make it so. Her 'Hen-night' had been spent hunched over Quality Indicator reports and Product Feedback notes, until she zonked out from weary red eyes and tasteless red wine. But then she'd made such an utter catastrophe of her own marriage - no, annulled non-marriage - that she was willing to support Ginny any way she needed.

And if Ginny required her to bake a phallus-shaped vanilla cake with flesh-tone pink butter-cream frosting, then damn it, she'd do that too. Except that she was utter shite at baking, and her lovely, wonderful, miraculous business partner Jake saved her before she botched it all to hell. So while he hummed around the kitchen making penis cake, donkey dick danishes, naughty no-no nougats, and 'hairy' chocolate dipped coconut balls, Hermione showered and stared absently at her open wardrobe, much like she'd done on the morning of her wedding.

When a tear threatened to trickle down her cheek, she blinked rapidly until it went away. There was no time for that. The two and a half months she'd wasted in bed crying herself sick were over. They'd flown by in a blur of deep depression and heartache that she was resolved never to revisit. The vials of Liquid Sunshine had taunted her, and though she knew they could bring her the clarity of thought and calm she sought, Severus had been right. She'd been adding too much Horntail liver for years, overdosing herself until she was an unemotional statue who felt nothing and was touched by nothing. That kind of detached living was just as unhealthy as her bone-aching depression.

How sad it was, she reflected, that the happiest she had been in recent memory was when her life was upended and she spent most of her time in Azkaban. But none of that was of any consequence anymore, she breathed; tomorrow was another day.

Jake, damn him, had saved Granger Industries. And Hermione realized she hadn't ever given him the credit that he deserved. Jake had the most amazing knack to go through reports just as thoroughly and almost as fast as Severus had, and Jake also had the most inspired ideas. She had undervalued him and his ability to do it all, apparently while baking a cake.

Hermione stuck her arm into the dark recesses of her wardrobe and fished around before pulling out at random a set of emerald green cashmere robes. "Grand," she muttered, and pulled the long knit skirt off the hanger. She'd need a top to go along, since voluminous sixteenth century inspired robes weren't in season in Muggle London. Another fishing trip later and she pulled out a similar set in camel. She tossed the robes aside and paired the camel sweater with the hip hugging green skirt, smoothed her hair down in front of the vanity mirror, and pronounced it 'good.' Or at least as good as it was going to get. Actually, the look wasn't too bad.

She grabbed her blue beaded purse, which really had seen better days but still managed to do the trick, secured her wand as a hairstick in her chignon, and strutted towards the kitchen. Her heels clicked loudly on the hardwood flooring in a manner Hermione found oddly reassuring. She could do this. She was a strong, independent witch. This wasn't about her. It wasn't even for her. It was all Ginny's good fortune.

When she entered the kitchen, Jake was basting royal icing swirls on tips of the penis shaped sugar biscuits. The cake was perfectly baked, cooled and frosted, along with all the other treats. He looked up, sampling a bit of the royal icing from his finger.

"Do you think the lemon zest is a bit much?"

"I'm sure it's perfect," Hermione smiled, kissing his cheek and piling the pastry boxes together for travel.

Jake rolled his eyes, "Of course it's perfect; it's always perfect. No need to be a Martha about it."

With a quick farewell, Hermione walked to the back door stoop, cautiously looked right and left, as they were in a Muggle neighborhood, and Disapparated with a pop. Jake watched her leave through the curtains over the kitchen sink, toweled off his hands and knocked on the cellar door.

"Ok, it's safe now, she's gone," He called out.

A few minutes later Severus emerged with Crookshanks under his arm, purring deeply. The two dominant alpha males had come to an understanding of sorts after a difficult first week, but after sorting out their respective territorial issues, they were rather fond of each other. Severus put down the pansy-faced monster, walked to the fridge, and pulled out a decent enough Riesling. He wasn't much for overly-sweet white wines, but it was what Jake kept on hand, and he wasn't complaining.

He dropped down a thick blue folder and grumbled, "You type it; my fingers hurt from punching the keys."

"That's because you jab them, Sweets. It's called touch-typing because you touch the keys, not beat them into submission," Jake retorted, reaching into the cupboard to pull out jars of pickled walnuts, kalamata olives and crusty bread. "The brie is in the fridge," he called over his shoulder.

A glass of wine and several olives later, Severus held his new BlackBerry in the palm of his hand and honestly declared, "I think I may break her neck when I get my hands on her."

"Tease," Jake chided.

* * *

The club was loud and smoky. The strobe lights made her nauseous, or perhaps that was the tequila. She had one, only one. No. Wait. Two, only two tequilas. To the best of her knowledge there had been two, or possibly four. Hornitos was such a gentle liquor and so fun to say when attempting to roll her 'Rs' that she _might _have ordered a few too many. She had figured the shots wouldn't kill her, and someone had to be the witch of reason while Gertrude molested random Muggle men. Two or maybe four shots, however, was more than enough.

Tequila, she determined, was definitely not her drink.

"Why aren't you dancing?" Ginny hollered in her ear.

"What?" Hermione screeched.

"Dan-cing." Ginny demonstrated the concept by imitating something that looked more like a physical malady than an artful expression, and the Tarantallegra Jinx was by far more graceful.

"Oh… dancing," Hermione screamed back, "Too hot." She pointed at her woolen clothing which looked absurd in the club, against all the bared flesh and popping nipples.

"Go change," Ginny hollered just as the throbbing techno beat changed and ended up yelling in her ear.

Hermione nodded and wandered off to a random dark corner. There were several D's involved. Determination was probably one of them. Destination sounded good too. Her eyes alighted on the graffiti strewn wall, 'Deez Nutz' was written thickly in ink. "Another good D," she commented mid-Apparition. She reappeared facing the dishwasher and pointed at it loudly pronouncing, "D" as her chin rested on her collar bone.

Behind her she faintly heard a great scuffle and a loud, 'Oh, shit,' as Severus nearly choked on an olive pit.

Hermione turned and headed to her guest room to change sighing, "Hi, Jake. Hi, Severus," and she strode out the door.

Back in the kitchen the two wizards locked eyes with the same thought on their minds. Hermione stumbled in the hallway and giggled, "D. Drunk."

"I'll take care of her," Jake offered.

Severus shot him a glare as the kalamata pit was forcibly expelled. "No, I will."

Jake held up his hands placatingly and backed off. Another loud crash came from the guest room and Severus drew his wand, Disillusioning himself. The tell-tale shimmer was still highly visible as he walked, but if Hermione was three sheets to the wind, she wouldn't likely notice. He let himself into her bedroom where she hopped on one foot, wrangling her jeans on.

Severus cocked his head to the side to watch the spectacle and was thoroughly entranced by her thong. It left nothing to the imagination and no part of her round bottom covered, but it drew him like a ship to a Siren. Disillusioned, Severus ended up offering his arm to lean on as she dragged her heels through the tight leggings.

"You should have taken those off first, Vixen," he murmured in her ear.

"Of course Severus, you're right." She paused and fumbled with the buttons on her fly. "You're always right."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. She was talking to herself again, or rather Severus, except Severus wasn't there and she was clearly fantasizing again. No, Severus was gone for good, and Hermione was going to stop duping herself by hoping he'd ever come back. Maybe more tequila was warranted.

He withdrew and watched Hermione rummage, making a horrible mess on the floor as she spilled the guts of her wardrobe everywhere. "Ah-ha!" she cried triumphantly, wrenching a red ribbed tank top from some hidden corner. Hermione swapped out her modest knit top and exchanged it for the tight sleeveless shirt.

"Oh, this will never do," she muttered to herself, before bringing her visible bra straps down, unhooking the garment and lobbing it across the room. Hermione stood and sighed, shaking her freed breasts a bit. Severus was not amused. He stood behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.

"You're not going out dressed that way, are you?"

"Uh-huh."

"It's indecent."

"Decent. Good D word. Determination. Decent. Deez Nutz."

The Apparition was especially jarring because he hadn't seen it coming, but in a quick second Severus found himself in a garish Muggle club, still hanging onto his witch. He was looking at some rather filthy graffiti which suggested something physically impossible for him and a gerbil to do in either Muggle or magical realms. But considering the condition of his witch, Severus was rather thankful he was in one piece. After a quick scan for 'spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch,' he followed her back to the bar.

She planted herself amidst other giggling witches and a thoroughly unwholesome-looking Ginevra Weasley, who was sporting a bridal veil and a generously-sized male genitalia necklace. Several of the partygoers appeared to have attached themselves at the lips and hips to highly suspicious-looking Muggle males. One large redheaded witch was popular with three of them.

Hermione sat at the bar stool, her head propped up on her hand and her glazed eyes dejectedly watching the embarrassing displays of attempted carnal knowledge, with a wistful look. A Muggle with absurdly baggy trousers and a heavy gold chain approached her, and Severus saw the exact moment the thought, _Oh, what the hell,_ crossed her mind. The growl issued forth from his throat was loud enough for several disreputable club patrons to look up from their mobiles at the disturbance.

Severus drew his wand and openly hexed his opponent. The streaking shot of dark blue magical residue went unobserved in the hot, sweltering club. The unwieldy youth stumbled and beat a hasty retreat. Severus' lady love's dignity remained intact for the moment, but a club full of hormonal Muggle males intent on mating with any available female was not something he could defend against in his current predicament.

Severus turned on his heel and Apparated away. The sharp crack of Apparition did not even register over the thumping music. He returned home and Jake screamed, dropping his naughty no-no nougat.

"Oh, don't scare me like that," he clutched his chest at the shimmering shape.

"I need a change of appearance," Severus growled, reappearing. "Something more Muggle." He touched the scar on his neck and quickly Glamoured it. "But nothing too different."

"Right." Jake pulled his wand and leveled it at Severus' crotch. "Just relax," he soothed, noticing the intense look of discomfort. "I do this all the time."

Jake Transfigured the well-tailored material into something lighter and baggier. He removed the crease and cuffs and made the front flat. Severus relaxed, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Take your jumper off, Honey."

Severus grumbled and pulled his grey crew neck off. Jake pulled out Severus' Oxford from his belt a bit, ignoring the glare, and made it much larger than any reasonable person would wear. Severus rolled up the cuffs of his sleeve to his elbows and added an additional Glamour to the faint remaining traces of his Dark Mark.

"Fabulous! Now let's do something about that hair. Oh, don't you whine at me, you baby, we can grow it out tomorrow."

The hair was cut into a shaggy Muggle style and lightened. For a moment he caught himself in the reflection from the toaster and grumbled that he'd been given a 'Harry Potter,' but his stringy hair actually looked fairly decent when flopping into his eyes.

"And perhaps something with the nose?" Severus growled again. "Right, silly me. We leave the nose. Fine. Blue eyes, fuller lips, cheeks and jawline a bit more filled, and my magic here is done!" Jake babbled as his wand twirled.

The charms would only hold for the day, but it was enough of a minor alteration that he could fool a plastered witch. Severus spent a moment looking at his distorted reflection in front of the toaster before spinning on his heel and appearing in front of 'Deez Nutz.'

He sighed loudly and muttered, "The things I do for you, Hermione," before joining the crowd.

All the shortened hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he saw his bride swapping saliva with some greasy teen. The burst of wandless magic sent the boy sprawling and he did not get up. Hermione looked over at his prone form and shrugged.

The club staff picked up and evicted the dazed kid as Severus smoothly strode to the bar and ordered two shots. He placed one in her hand.

Hermione looked up and yelled, "I'm not drinking anymore."

"It's not a drink…" At her confusion he clarified, "it's to kill the bacteria from the clown whose face you were eating."

"Oh, good point," she readily agreed downing the shot without thinking.

Severus examined his witch and handed her the second shot just to see if she'd imbibe it. She did, without hesitation. She wasn't going to leave his side.

"I'm Simon," he purred in her ear.

"Her-miney."

She squinted at the Muggle. He looked vaguely familiar in a hazy sort of way, and with his dark looks he almost passed for a Severus stand-in. Well, there weren't any substitutes for Severus, but the Muggle would do.

"So this is your Hen-party?"

"Wish," she sighed pointing to Ginny who was shimmying on the dance floor, her veil long discarded. "I used to be married. You?"

"No."

"Liar!" Hermione giggled and pointed to the plain gold band on his left hand.

"Does it matter?" he questioned as the music changed to a softer ambient sound.

Hermione nodded in the affirmative, and grimacing, Severus slipped the ring he hadn't removed since the day they were wed off his finger and pocketed it. "Look, see," he murmured to the inebriated witch, holding up an empty hand. "Not married anymore."

"Like it never even happened," she sniffled.

"Like it never even happened," he echoed, softly grabbing her hand and pulling her off the bar stool. "Dance with me, Hermione."

As he guided his witch on to the lighted dance floor he traded small approving nods of acknowledgement with Miss Weasley and Madam Creevey nee Lovegood. Madam Creevey sported a pink penis tiara on top of her head but, strangely, her choice of adornment did not make her stick out in the crowd.

Hermione pulled him, tugging his arm nearly out of its socket until she found a space away from her friends that suited her, and Severus awkwardly bounced on his heels in time to the music as she gyrated wildly, her hair and wand coming loose. Severus could manage dancing. Dancing was a precise art of timing, footwork, technique, and physical prowess that he understood. There were rules in dancing, and a concept of 'line of dance' that was completely lost in the clubs. In the darkened, pulsating club he was unsure of what to do with himself, and the more foreign it felt, the more self-conscious he became. Hermione suffered from no illusions of self awareness and moved freely.

"Hermione," he caught her in his arms as she spun, and plucked her falling wand out of her hair. "You're about to lose this."

She took her wand and stared at it momentarily, nonplussed about what to do with it, before sliding it along her hip and skin tight jeans. Severus shook his head and wished he hadn't offered her the shots. He'd mostly done it to see if she would, to gauge her rational decision-making skills, and also out of fear that if she sobered up she'd catch on to his identity, but Hermione was gone. His hands slid down her arm and he looked into the eyes of his lost witch. Hermione sniffled and embraced him tightly.

"Please fix this, Severus," she moaned into his chest.

"Don't worry. We'll fix this."

He stroked her wild mane and rubbed her shoulder as she buried her face into him, her fingernails digging painfully into his side; but Severus had his arms full of his witch and couldn't be arsed to care. He cradled her jaw and softly kissed her forehead. "I promise."

"Take me home, Severus," Hermione babbled into his shoulder. "Make love to me."

"Yes, Vixen."

Severus gently led her through the throngs of bodies to face the alcove she'd first selected, as it did make an adequate hidey-hole from prying eyes. Wrapping her in his embrace, Severus Apparated them to the back door stoop and carried her in his arms to her bedroom, making a place for her amongst all the strewn clothing. She reached for him briefly before laying back, her head rolling. "I'll be right back."

A moment later he returned carrying small vials of potions she would need and found his love snoring lightly, hair plastered to her skin.

"Sit up. Drink this," Severus cradled her head and put the potion to her lips. Hermione slurped it down and licked the dribble from her lips. "Good girl. Good night, Hermione."

"G'night Severus."

He flicked out the lights and sighed.

* * *

There was a knocking on her skull… there was knocking on her door. It felt like it was in her skull. Hermione grabbed her pillow and rolled over. The damned knocking didn't stop.

"Go away," she whined.

"Get up, Little Miss! You've slept half the day."

She didn't care. "Go. Away!" she tried again.

"Have you forgotten something? Like a dress rehearsal for the wedding?"

"I'm up! I'm up!" she screeched.

"'Bout damn time, too."

She heard his feet shuffle down the hallway, leaving her in peace. She snuggled into the pillow, until she remembered. Wedding rehearsal. Today. Five o'clock. Non-negotiable. Shit. She'd have to be presentable, which meant mobile and coherent. No rest for the wicked, none at all.

Hermione instantly bolted upright and completely regretted the lamentable action. Oh, nausea! She resolved to find her potions supply as soon as she found her feet. And her wand. Her hand blindly patted the bedside table out of habit and found the smooth wood. She sighed in relief.

She had no recollection of how she got home the night before, but Apparating drunk was never a good idea. Random images flooded her brain, disjointed and vague. Hermione was about to utter a spell for light before the crust of mascara peeled open and she noticed the light of afternoon streaming through the Battenberg lace curtains.

"Fuck!"

She swung her legs over the side of the bed in a move that made her woozier than anything, but spied several hangover and nutritional supplement potions sitting out for her on the bed stand. Hermione smiled. Jake was the best. "My hero," she swooned with a cheeky grin before greedily downing the potions in rapid succession. The quick jerking of her head as she tilted it back to slurp every last drop made it swim, but she was soon set to rights.

And the digital display of her alarm clock confirmed it was indeed three in the afternoon. Hermione shuffled to the bathroom, grabbing her housecoat on the way. She smelled like a bar. The stench of stale tobacco and cheap liquor sunk into her skin. And though the potions had chased away the lingering fuzz, it did nothing for her hair or skin... or grotty teeth.

A/N:

Chapter title: Cogito Sumere Potum Alterum - I think I'll have another drink

I can now say with 98% certainty that there will be 61 chapters to TGC. This is one of Christev's absolute favorite chapters, so I dedicate it to her.

To my lovely readers and reviewers, I am humbled by your responses. Thank you for your dedication and love. AV


	57. Chapter 57

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 57 - Alis Volat Propiis **

"You do realize that's the worse idea I've heard from you yet."

"I thought it would be romantic," he mumbled into his afternoon tea.

"Which part? When she hexes your testicles off, or the part where you completely ruin Ginny and Billy's wedding? Because I cannot see this ending well for you, mate. She may even hate you for it."

"Besides," he grinned slyly, setting out more brie and pickled walnuts – Snape comfort food – "weddings are supposed to be ruined by the bride on the rag, distant relatives giving horribly embarrassing, drunken toasts, and if it's really good, a bridesmaid getting preggers in a coat closet. Not unwanted ex-husbands making surprise entrances at the altar as the Best Man."

They were unnaturally silent for a few moments before Jake slapped his forehead. "Sorry, dude. I didn't mean it like that. I'm sure you're not unwanted."

Severus ruefully sat back and considered the milk-livered twit's words. Jake had cautioned him against cornering Hermione in a public location. He also might have mentioned that acting anything less than contrite was a 'bad idea.' Perhaps the little Hufflepuff had a point. Both tactics had been disastrous, and Severus was no closer to winning Hermione back than he was while sitting in prison.

"I am willing to admit, it may be… ill-timed. And I'm not your dude."

"Severus, you can't just surprise her. You have to warn her." Jake whined, stamping his foot like a fourth year Yule Ball date. "It's a terrible idea. Let me set the scene for you." Jake waved his hands in circles, and Severus arched an incredulous eyebrow at his 'Jazz hands.'

"Ginny and Billy begged you to be their Best Man. They're looking forward to you standing next to them while they recite their vows. And while it's highly suspicious to me that you just happen to be the Best Man and Hermione is the Maid of Honor, because I'm sure they're trying to be evil little matchmakers, which isn't funny at all because that's my job, but the point is – it's their day. If you show up at the altar on the day of the wedding to sweep Hermione off her feet, you're picking the wrong venue.

"And Hermione's not dense either. She makes horribly stupid decisions about her personal life – no offense – and is in desperate need of a decent moisturizer for her combination skin, but she won't appreciate the gesture at all. This isn't some soap opera. She's not going to swoon and ask the officiating wizard to do a double wedding. She's more likely to give you the cold shoulder, at best, and storm out of the wedding at worst. Or maybe worse than that…"

Jake paused mid-rant to take a deep breath. It helped, especially considering his face was going slightly purple-ish. "And even if she's in a forgiving mood and wants to take your sorry ass back, she's certainly not crass enough to do so at their wedding. Think Severus. I know you want to get her back, and you believe it requires some bold move, but think about what you're saying. God, why are you so bad with women?"

Severus scowled, and probably undid all the work the Healer had done on his jaw alignment.

"What would a poof like you know about women?" He countered, feeling very petty.

"My, my, Severus, aren't we a little sensitive tonight? You're a forty-something, miserable old wizard, and if Hermione hadn't propositioned you, you'd still be a bachelor. Oh wait, I think I just answered my question on why you're bad with women. But whatever. Just consider that I have more experience with the fairer sex, I've been privy to all Hermione's girl talk, and at the moment, I'm being a lot more objective than you are. And I'm not a poof."

Severus recoiled. "You're not?"

"Of course not, dearie. I don't discriminate; I'm an equal opportunity lover. Why be so narrow-minded about who you choose to love, when it's love that's most important. That is, when I can find someone to love," he added. Jake felt destined to always be a bridesmaid and never a bride.

"How ...Hufflepuff."

Jake's lips twisted into a wry grin. "That's it. Now you're catching on. Come to Hufflepuff, we'll take 'em all. You know, I'll make a little badger buddy of you yet, Severus Snape."

"I think not." Severus harrumphed and busied himself with clearing dishes, as her ginger monster threaded himself between Severus' legs. He swore the beast was trying to trip him again.

"So? What should I do?" he asked in a resigned voice.

Jake batted his eyelashes. "I thought you'd never ask!"

* * *

Hermione was not having a good day. It was decidedly a 'bad day.' The wedding rehearsal was a disaster, which was mostly attributable to the fact that both parties were significantly hung over. And their Best Man was missing, which she thought was terribly tacky, but she kept her mouth shut. Honestly, she didn't care. Her focus was on trying to ignore all the crap she had going on in her life and smiling when necessary so that Ginny had a beautiful wedding.

Perhaps once all the wedding stuff was over, and she made sure that the last past-due shipment to the distributors was caught up and delivered, she'd go on a vacation. A real vacation. Not the nightmare that had been her trip to Australia. A guilty conscious was a heavy thing to carry. But even though she'd done away with the guilty baggage that had been her parents' exile to Australia, her mood hadn't improved. It probably had to do with the fact that she had neither heard from nor seen Severus since he tried to embarrass her in front of an audience.

She needed a vacation. A real vacation. With tropical beaches, cabana boys, and coconut-smelling tanning oil. No. Most resort locations were modern, with internet access and hordes of other tourists. She felt the need to disappear. Hermione sighed and placed the tribe of Weasley bridesmaids in their processional order for the third time. She needed a country where she could get lost. Maybe something with 'stan' in the name.

Running from her troubles was counter-productive. Her self-help books all said so. But then they seemed most useful as lining for her owl cage. Escapism sounded perfectly acceptable. She envisioned a fantasy of some desolate and craggy Mediterranean coastline with wind-whipped trees stretching towards the sea. Gulls overhead. Friendly suntanned locals. And no phone, internet, or owl post around.

She dutifully repositioned an errant Weasley to flank the correct side of the altar.

'Ha!' she cackled to herself. Places like that didn't exist, or if they did they were uninhabitable or littered with tourists. Even the old leaky-roofed lighthouse where Hagrid had collected an eleven year old Harry had turned into a pilgrimage site for Chosen-One aficionados.

A small tawny owl flew into the chapel, perched on a chair, and began trilling and hooting. All eyes turned to the bird, and Ron, who was filling in for the absentee Best Man went to retrieve the missive.

"Oi, Hermione!" he called out, as all eyes slid to her. "It's for you!"

Her fists clenched until her nails left painful crescent marks in her palm. She gritted her teeth and growled in a low and dangerous tone, "I hate my distributors!"

Muttering curses vulgar enough to make a Death Eater blush, and certainly as inappropriate for a chapel as a hooting owl, she stormed across the room, ripped the rolled parchment out of his hand.

_"...and stuff the charred remains..."_ She stopped mid-tirade as soon as she noticed the handwriting.

White as a sheet, Hermione turned apologetically to the Bride. "I'm sorry Gin, I've got to take this." Oddly, she felt like she had just gotten an interrupting phone call.

Hermione quietly slipped into the small office allocated to the bridal party and slumped against the door. On wobbly knees she dragged herself into a chair and unfurled the note with trembling fingers.

_My Hermione,  
I do not wish to startle you or cause you any additional hurt, so I must inform you that William Mulciber has asked me to stand for him as his Best Man._

_I can only hope our conflict will not cause a disruption to their wedding. Hermione, if there is any hope left for us, I'd like to meet with you and see what we can salvage in our relationship. I truly am sorry I caused you embarrassment on your date with Mr. Dirkins. It was very petty of me to act so possessive of you, but I still think of you as my wife._

_Yours,  
Severus_

She read it twice, flipped the page over in case she had missed anything, and read it again. By the time she had put down the entirely too-short note, Hermione had it memorized.

_I still think of you as my wife_

She heard his voice drawling in her ear and a cold shiver ran up her spine. Severus.

The half-formed and blurry recollection of the night before swam in front of her mind's eye. In the shower, she'd remembered what she could about the night before, and had been mortified.

Hermione had gone out, gotten completely and embarassingly trashed and - for lack of a better word - molested some Muggle. Just because he reminded her vaguely of Severus. If that wasn't bad enough, Hermione had called him Severus, and begged him to take her to bed. Never mind the fact she had no memory of how she got to bed.

As she had gotten dressed, Hermione had racked her brain for a depressingly long time trying to figure out if she had actually taken the Muggle home. Her body didn't feel any different. And it was a very low personal moment when she cast a charm just to find out if they'd had sex. Her relief at the negative test result was overwhelming.

It had still taken a lot of Gryffindor courage to show her face at the rehersal. Hermione had imagined they would turn their disapproving eyes upon her, and she'd lose the last of her friends willing to stand up for her. Except they hadn't even paid her any mind. That might have been because only Hermione had recovered properly from her hangover. The nutritional suppliments Jake had left for her were... Severus quality.

The thought she'd been avoiding... the obvious conclusion that skirted her logical brain... she knew it, but didn't want to acknowledge it. The parchment in her fingertips, however, was hard to ignore.

Severus had been there. Whether she'd been too shit-faced plasterd to recognize him, or he'd been disguised, Hermione wasn't certain. But as little fragmented memories resorted themselves in her fuzzy mind, she knew - Severus had been there.

And dear god, she'd molested him!

"Oh, shoot me now," she moaned piteously.

It was one thing to get trashed and do infinitely stupid things in front of her friends and strangers she'd never see again. It was quiet another to do them in front of Severus. But he had taken care of her. She was pretty certain he had seen her home.

_I still think of you as my wife._

Hope, absent for so long from her heart, suddenly bloomed within her chest. If her feet could have left the ground, she would have soared.

It was thirty minutes before Hermione emerged from the backroom to give the tawny owl her reply. Her cheeks were blotchy and her make-up washed off, but she was smiling. Billy slumped against Ginny in relief.

Ginny pinched his bum and hissed in his ear, "That's ten Galleons you owe me."

"Gladly," Billy replied. "Gladly."

* * *

Severus scanned the sky for dots that might turn into owls bearing a kind word - well, actually any response from Hermione would do. The sky was abysmally empty except for a Muggle airplane leaving white scars across the perfect blue sky. He pulled his parka tighter around his shoulders, huffed a warming breath into his hands and trudged to the ramshackle garden shed at the back of the property.

With Hermione lurking about and Muggle neighborhoods surrounding them, there were no less than six Distraction and Confounding charms on the backyard in general, and a further two Notice-Me-Nots on the shed in particular. Nobody wanted to explain to the authorities pictures of a house-elf and a mess of production workers who entered the tiny pop-up tent like a clown car. But then, that was the hassle of doing business throughout the Wizarding world. Only Hogsmeade was an all-wizarding village, meaning 90 percent of British Wizarding society lived smushed between Muggles. And yet, they did not integrate.

Jake was seated in the narrow gap between the shed and the back fence, trading stories and smoking fags with Tink. Jake followed his gaze and accurately assumed Severus wasn't fascinated by the 747.

"Give her time," he soothed.

Jake obligingly held out another fag for Tink and shook his head. His pack was nearly empty, and given half the chance, she'd bum them all. 'Ah well,' he thought. The elf was unsalaried; a few fags here and there wouldn't kill them.

Jake frowned and stared at the squat elf puffing away on her fourth light in an hour. Would they kill her? He shrugged and resolved to keep an eye on the old girl.

Hermione would kill him. She knew nothing about Tink, but if by chance she found out that he'd let an elf smoke herself to an early grave, Hermione would kill him. Jake took a deep lung-filling drag. And she'd make it painful. That witch knew way too many inventive hexes. She was really scary actually, and Jake was grateful she'd been on their side during the war.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake perceived Severus stiffen, and he shifted his eyes skyward.

"Owl. Ten o'clock," Jake needlessly announced.

Severus cast him a look that plainly read, 'I knew that, fuckwit.'

"And it's Norma Jean," Jake added, also unnecessarily.

"Fuckwit," Severus grunted.

"Jinx!" Jake squealed, knowing full well it was lost on the wizard entirely, but not caring either. Not that Severus was likely to have noticed. Severus was fully focused on the incoming bird, like a Hippogriff on a juicy, dead ferret.

Norma Jean ignored the taciturn wizard tracking her movements and flew to her sugar-daddy who already had bacon proffered. Jake quickly tapped his wand on the bird, reversing the color changing spell he'd placed on her. It would be just another reason for Hermione to kill him if she knew he was in cahoots with Severus. And Norma Jean preferred the tawny color over her natural earth-brown.

Jake kept him waiting in agony as he preened Norma Jean and praised her for doing her fucking job. Irritated beyond reason, Severus snatched the parchment from her talons, shredding it in the process, but not giving a damn.

Soothing Norma Jean, Jake discretely observed Severus. She was a deeply sensitive bird, and Severus grabbing her parchment had ruffled her pin feathers. If he didn't calm her, she'd be dropping partially digested mouse pellets all over the house for weeks.

Severus' eyes stopped roaming the parchment and he stood stock still and silent. Even in the pale of winter, his face drained of all color.

"Well," Jake pried in a whining voice. "What does it say?"

Severus swallowed thickly, trying to find his voice, and looked down at the parchment again, even though he already had her message committed to memory. "She's willing to meet with me. But only after the wedding. She won't see me for the rehearsal dinner. It's too soon."

"Fabulous!" Jake clapped.

A/N:  
Chapter title: Alis Volat Propiis - She flies with her own wings

This chapter was beta'd by the amazing 'Chief Pervert Inspector' Christev the Great.

I'm behind on reviews again, and I apologize; I will get to them shortly. Next chapter will actually features SS and HG together. In the same room (gasp!). The Angst-muse has fled the coop. Schmootches Kittens, AV


	58. Chapter 58

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

* * *

**Chapter 58 - Di! Ecce Hora! Uxor Mea Me Necabit!**

Jake kept disappearing on her when she needed him the most. Nobody but nobody could tame her hair like he could. Honestly, she was an utter wreck, and he kept disappearing into the cellar.

Below ground Severus paced and glanced occasionally to the spot where dust was falling from Hermione's above ground pacing.

"Where's Jake?" he growled to Tink.

She shot him a disgusted look in return and flipped back to her gardening magazine. Severus had no clue if the little bugger could read, but knowing Hermione, she had probably taught them all through primary school levels.

Jake bustled through the cellar door and practically bounced down the stairs. "Ugh. All this drama!" he announced. "I can't stand it. I'll be so happy once all of this nonsense is over," he said in a voice that conveyed quite the opposite.

"How is she?" Severus snapped.

"Yes, well, hello to you, too. Princess is just fine. She'll be beautiful, of course. Even in that hideous frock. I mean, honestly, why do brides insist on their maids wearing the same uniform dress? They're usually chosen to flatter any body shape, but instead look ghastly on all of them."

"Jacob," Severus warned.

"I know, I know. No more 'ooh shiny.' Stay focused on Hermione. You're a real kill-joy, you know that? She's only dropped your name every third word."

"Is that good?" he asked, looking completely stricken.

Jake shrugged in a maddening way that provoked Severus into fantasies of choking the life out of the Hufflepuff clown.

"Relax," Jake said. "Easy, tiger. She wants to see you. She's a nervous wreck about it, but I think that's a positive sign. Yeah?"

"Yes," Severus quietly echoed, unconvinced.

She was willing to see him. That had to be better than the last confrontation. But Severus had learned his lesson well. And he understood that in dealing with Hermione, a little humility on his part was in order.

"Gotta run. Don't worry, peanut. You'll do just fine."

* * *

"Where were you?" Hermione cried frantically, and Jake sent a wand-swish towards her to reinforce his handiwork.

Waterworks at this point would be disastrous to all his hard work. Each eyelash was perfectly separated, curled, extended, plumped and darkened. And he _would not_ allow her to bollocks it all up. Especially not over Severus Sodding Snape.

"My hair's not half done, and I have no idea how I'm going to wrangle this… this… thing into my hair!"

Jake winced as her voice nearly hit the 'breaking glass' pitch. In her hand she held the crumpled spray of pine needles and red tea roses. The Weasley-Mulciber wedding had a Christmas theme, given the holiday was nearly a week away. And Christmas colors encompassed both of their respective Houses. Not that Jake was impressed. Winter weddings with clashing Christmas colors were so gauche and unimaginative.

At least Ginny had the foresight to make the bridesmaids' dresses evergreen. Red-headed Weasleys dumped in red dresses – ack! - a fashion 'don't.'

"Gimme here, beautiful."

Hermione gratefully handed over the blooms and took a seat at the dressing table.

"It's supposed to be in a French twist," she stated for the fifth time that morning, "but not too high or too tight. I don't want it to pull on my scalp all day. It'll just give me a killer headache, and honestly I don't think –"

"Hush!" Jake ordered gently, pulling her head back with sure fingers. He massaged her scalp and ran a soft brush through her tresses, coaxing Hermione into a restful state.

"I had really vivid dreams last night," Jake stated, switching the topic to a non-wedding issue as he manipulated pressure points. "I was some secret-agent, very badass. But I worked undercover in Hollywood as an actor. So during the pauses in production, instead of being in my trailer, I was fighting crime and looking fabulous. I was really really good at it, too. Don't believe me? Just ask anyone in my dream and they'll tell you how amazing I was."

Hermione sleepily agreed.

"Pin," he muttered. Hermione began to hand him pins on command, and as the knot twisted on her head, the knot between her shoulders began to unwind.

"That's it. You're done."

"Hm?" Hermione gazed drowsily at her reflection and noted her hair was up. Her spray of blossoms was in, and she had run out of reasons to avoid going to the wedding. Severus would be there, and the feelings of dread and anticipation settled in her stomach. It was wrong that she was neglecting her Maid of Honor duties because of _him_, but it was the truth.

Hermione sighed deeply and glanced at her watch. She still had an hour before Ginny really needed her, but she had to get going. It was time to hurry up and wait.

"Jake? Do you think Severus will–"

"Yes," Jake answered emphatically.

"But–"

"Yes," he restated just as definitively as before.

"We haven't even–"

"Yes," Jake repeated, rolling his eyes. "Now get your butt in gear, girly. You look lovely. A vision of beauty. Trust me; just watch Severus drop his jaw when he sees you. You'll be fine."

Jake hastily ushered her out of the house, and she barely had a moment to wonder when Jake had begun calling him Severus, like they were old school chums, before she arrived at the chapel. Actually, the last words she uttered before Portkeying was, "Jake, why is there a house-elf in your home?"

"She's a garden-elf, Hermione. She doesn't 'do' housework." Jake said to empty air as the feisty elf shot him a nasty look.

Once Hermione was gone, Jake crumpled against the kitchen counter to catch his breath. He gave a death glare to Tink, who was rummaging through utensil drawers.

"Looking for these?" Jake asked with a mischievous grin, holding up a pack of cigarettes.

Tink slowly put down the stack of potholders she had just pulled from a drawer, her eyes riveted to Jake's hand. She scowled back and tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for her fag.

"Na-ah, Missie. You've had enough of these. No more smoking for a while." Jake took one out for himself. He was replacing the pack into his shirt pocket when Tink ran up and kicked him hard in the shins. Quick as lightning, she scrabbled up his trouser leg and absconded with all the cigarettes.

Limping, Jake turned towards the cellar, muttering, "Damned house-elves aren't supposed to do that."

"Tink is garden-elf!" she screamed hysterically from the direction of the garden.

* * *

Hermione arrived at the chapel on time and was able to assist getting Ginny into her dress, along with the whole horde of clucking Weasley witches. Ron's new wife Becky was glowing with the disgusting radiance afforded by a perfect Weasley pregnancy. And Hermione only winced twice as she and Ginny shared plans for repopulating Wizarding Britain.

'And good luck to them,' Hermione thought.

Really, her own dashed plans for children were one, maybe two at the most. Even if Severus did want kids, she didn't think she could handle much more than that. Hermione mentally paused and she chided herself for making obviously delusional assumptions.

_'I still think of you as my wife'_ did not mean their problems would go 'poof' with the wave of a magic wand. Such thinking was disastrous and unrealistic. Really, she was just begging to get her heart trampled on again, which wasn't healthy at all but… she couldn't help herself. Since receiving his painfully short note, Hermione's heart had swollen, filled near to bursting with hope. Stupid love-sick hope. And as the mercilessly slow clock ticked closer to 'magic time' her eagerness only grew.

Risking her heart again, she was ready to see him and giddy with anticipation for her man when the processional music began to play. She'd seen him when he'd interrupted her 'date,' and yet it seemed like it had been years since she laid eyes on _her wizard._

It was not her wedding, she had to tell herself firmly. But when she stepped out into the aisle, clutching her nosegay, and Severus turned to see her, it felt like it was.

Severus stood next to Billy, whose eyes were riveted on his slowly traveling bride, and Severus' eyes were locked onto Hermione's.

The air between them shifted, growing still in the space. Her feet moved to the slow cadence of the organ music, propelled forward by necessity, but for Hermione, she was simply drawn to her man who stood with regal bearing, waiting to receive her. If her feet had wings she would have flown, as they did not touch the earth.

The monstrosity of a fir green sateen gown rustled around her limbs, awkwardly constructed, and pinching in several places, but to Severus' gaze she was glorious. Hermione knew that she was beautiful to him, confident in her knowledge, as he appraised her in unspoken glimmering eyes and slight approving tilts of his chin. She could read him, his look, so well, and rejoiced within herself. Her wizard found her beautiful.

When she reached her position on the side of the altar, Hermione recovered the breath she'd unwittingly been holding.

Billy and Ginny were married in a service of mixed traditions, and for them their binding ceremony was perfect. Their Ministry-appointed stooge only interrupted once to perform the insipid marriage law vows, and hastily retreated under the stern gaze of the officiant who gently gathered their hands and knotted their silver binding cords. Hushed words were spoken between them, too quiet for the audience to hear, but Hermione and Severus, gathered into their intimate circle, were honored to share in their joining.

For Severus and Hermione, the intense moment of wistful longing they shared as the bride and groom recited vows of faith, devotion and love was also perfect. Held in the soft spell of his obsidian eyes, she was transfixed by her love standing so close. He was watching her, mirroring the love her heart felt for him. Rejection, abandonment, their issues were forgotten.

When the couple at the altar turned to kiss, Hermione shook her head slightly, realizing that she had been slowly reciting her vow responses to Severus. She glanced at him and noticed him nodding in approval at the newlyweds.

* * *

Their reception was well attended and, unlike at the chapel where the bride's side of the aisle was packed to capacity and the groom's side was politely attended by a handful, the reception was a jovial mix of well-wishers and dancing couples. The alcohol flowed freely and the food was excellent. There was even a surprise guest. Hermione gasped when she spotted a frail, but familiar, figure hugging the shadows of the ballroom.

Draco Malfoy almost never ventured out past the gates of the Manor where he lived as a recluse, a prisoner in his own cage.

Harry had launched a very agressive public campaign after the war on his behalf, throwing all of his political clout behind the Slytherin. And that was the only reason the wizard wasn't laying in an Azkaban cell, Kissed like the rest of his family. But he'd become a social pariah and hermit ever since. Amongst the mix of happy wedding attendees, the pale blond faded into the wall tapestries, and Hermione was pleased to see him in attendance.

As the wedding guests chatted and dined, enjoying the excellent reception, Hermione had a hard time getting in the mood, even though she tried to put on a good show of it for her friends. The Best Man was just too much of a distraction. At the head table, Hermione sat on Ginny's right, and the bridal couple acted as a barrier between her and Severus. That did not stop her eyes from glancing in his direction every other minute. They were drawn to him, even though only the back of his ink-spill hair or his porcelain white hands were visible.

It made tackling her salmon difficult. Severus was so painfully close.

Hermione closed her eyes fighting the unaccountably giddy feeling, like a silly schoolgirl crush, that crept up on her at the most unwelcome of times.

The din hushed and Hermione looked up to see Severus standing, his glass pinched between his fingers to toast the wedded couple. Hermione's world narrowed entirely on the wizard who commanded the room by his presence.

Severus did not have to clear his throat to garner their attention, though a few swooning witches appeared to  
have the vapors. He turned and addressed Billy and Ginny, and in doing so caught the eye of _his wife_.

"To William and Ginevra," he began, his smooth voice rich, full with heartfelt emotion.

"I stand here today, honored to toast you. To celebrate your union and to wish you–" Severus paused, choking slightly before recovering, "–a happily ever after together. I first met William – Billy – as his Head of House at Hogwarts, where I often thought – given his warm generosity, abundant kindness and forgiving nature – he should have been sorted a Hufflepuff. But then, all too late, I discovered that the innocent boy was quite the scheming prankster. In fact, would you believe that he is single-handedly responsible for the 'Great Treacle Fart Debacle of 1992?' I do believe that one was blamed on the Bride's twin brothers, and earned Slytherin House 30 points."

Light titters broke out from the audience and Severus grinned briefly. It wasn't big enough to show off his dimple, Hermione fondly noted, but the tell-tale flashbulb meant some enterprising witch had captured her shot for Witch Weekly and would earn a fortune.

"Billy, despite the many challenges of your youth, you've grown into a wizard that any witch and any family would be proud to call their own. Your bride is quite a catch, and I know you're equally proud to have her by your side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, when I ask you to raise your goblets with me to toast our newlyweds, please do so with gladened hearts. For here before you is love. These souls have found the blessing of true joy within one another. And anyone who has looked upon them cannot help but note their devotion. I am so happy for the both of you."

Severus beamed again at the jubilant couple, and Hermione's lips spread into a smile when she spotted the dimple on his cheek. She could spend her life watching for that dimple if it were meant for her.

Severus' tone dropped, changed, and anyone who'd spent any time at all with him in his lab shifted uncomfortably in automatic response to _that_ tone. His mellifluous voice, a caress, could turn into a hard-edged weapon, and cause a shudder of fear to race up any spine.

"Despite the Marriage Law, you've found something uniquely special in each other, and I am glad for your good fortune. Not all are so fortunate. The law has, by its inherent nature, turned a generation of virtuous young witches to acts of desperation to find husbands, suitable or not, wherever they can. It has thankfully left you unscarred. But I ask the esteemed Ministry employees and Wizengamot members I see in attendance here tonight, was this what we wanted? To remove witches' free will? Their right to choose a mate? Their consent in childbirth? To force them to bind themselves in haste? What kind of society legislates the the whoring of its daughters? And I ask those who speak ill of witches placed in the unenviable position of finding a spouse or suffering banishment from our world: Where is your compassion?"

Everyone in the hall sat unnaturally still.

"I am sickened by those who've slandered my own wife. Pardon me, my ex-wife. But wife or no, if anyone attacks my Hermione or causes her harm in any way, they will have a Death Eater at their door. Not a misunderstood poet, or an anti-hero. Not a reformed prisoner, or a spy for the light. Make no mistake, I will not tolerate it."

The collective gasp in the room was both audible and palpable as 200 guests gaped at the foreboding wizard. The newest Mulciber family smiled proudly at their Best Man. And a few witches stared intently at Hermione, consideringly, as if they'd never before seen her as a person outside of newsprint. Hermione was robbed of breath again as she slowly processed his impassioned defense of her honor. Closing her mouth, Hermione realized that gawking with a hanging jaw wasn't the photo she wanted for the Prophet.

Severus began again, placidly, as though he hadn't just accused the Ministry of whoring young witches. "Billy, Ginny, I congratulate you. Your marriage is built upon the solid foundation of your love, companionship, and equality. I wish you many years of happiness together. Will everyone please join me in toasting the Mulcibers. Brought together by Ministry coersion, but married in love. To Billy and Ginny."

'To Billy and Ginny,' the startled crowd mumbled quietly.

"To Billy and Ginny," Hermione repeated belatedly.

Her dinner was too much and it was pushed away as the reception resumed. The clatter over the Best Man's speech a dull hum within the hall.

Sighing and trying to appear the happy Maid of Honor, Hermione counted down the hours that she'd have to sit next to the bride and put on a brave face. No man would approach her to dance. Even if they might have been interested before, they certainly wouldn't be after Severus had marked her as his territory, and the chance that Severus would come for her seemed unlikely. She glanced down the table and found his seat empty. She felt both wistful and morose as she sipped slowly on the wine, as she'd sworn off alcohol for the foreseeable future.

Someone tapped her shoulder.

"Dance with me, Hermione," he rumbled behind her ear.

He held his arm out solicitously. She looked skittish for a moment, her lower lip turning inward on her teeth.  
"It would be bad form not to, considering the occasion."

Scanning the room and noting the curious expressions directed their way, she nodded once, taking his offered arm.

A waltz struck up and he turned her into his arms, holding her delicately and swaying until stepping out on the beat. Hermione seamlessly followed like an extension of his body, as if they'd been dancing together for years.

After a quiet circuit around the floor, Severus politely inquired, "How is your boyfriend? I don't see him here tonight."

"My...?" Hermione asked rattled as her foot skipped on the descending beat. "Oh. Aristotle. We, uh, broke up."

"Trouble in paradise?" Severus asked, just barely managing to keep the snort out of his voice.

"Ha!" Hermione returned. "That's what the headlines call us."

Severus' sneer marred his features before he schooled them back into a more sociable look for the reception.

"And how did he take the disappointing news?"

She was biting on her lower lip and Severus felt her balance slightly shift over the balls of her feet. Steadying her with a guiding hand at her shoulder blade, Severus waited patiently.

"I… haven't told him."

"Oh?"

"I was rather hoping he'd forget about the whole thing," Hermione sheepishly admitted.

"Yes, well, there is that," Severus drawled nastily. It didn't matter that the old codger hadn't been after his witch; he'd been with her. Sharing her time and attention while he lazed in a cold and dusty cellar. Severus conveniently forgot that he _liked_ the cellar.

"Be nice," Hermione chided. "The wizard is 130."

"Really?" Severus asked surprise. "Humph. And he doesn't look a day over 99."

Hermione tried not to grin and failed.

"Oh, not so satisfying to take advantage of the old and infirm," Severus winced as the words tripped out before censoring them and Hermione drew a sharp gasp. "I apologize," he amended quickly.

"No. No, you're right, and that was what you were getting at with your toast, wasn't it? I mean, after all, what's the difference between using a wizard who last changed his own underpants in the Thatcher years, and a prison inmate too needful for food and blankets to say, 'No.' I'm a horrible person."

Severus shot her a withering look. "I'll have you know I changed my own underwear this morning, thank you very much."

Hermione giggled in his arms and Severus wanted to bury his face in her neck, nuzzle her and make her giggle again.

"I meant…" She laughed. "I meant… oh you bloody well know what I meant."

Their waltz was on its finishing strains and he drew her closer. "I know what you meant, Hermione," he murmured close to her ear.

She recovered and grinned. "I seem to recall a certain fondness on your part for going without underpants."

Severus cocked an amused eyebrow at his bride. The perfect response was to afford her the opportunity to investigate, but Severus couldn't risk getting slapped in front of the camera-ready crowd. His lips quirked, "I believe you've caught me in a lie, Vixen."

Vixen. Hermione felt unaccountably lightheaded. The waltz had ended and if he let go, surely she'd fall. _Vixen._ The word, spoken in his soft rumbling purr made Hermione tingle. She couldn't bear him pulling away from her.

She imagined Severus leading her from the dance floor and ending the sublime moment, and she found the thought unbearable. Both hands clenched furiously on his body. Fingertips pressing into his bicep, possibly leaving a mark, the strains of the next song started up and Hermione made it obvious she would not step away. Had she the voice to say so, Hermione might have said something utterly stupid, like she was never walking away.

Severus obliged her as her favorite Sinatra song began, and he lead her again to the wholly appropriate foxtrot 'Witchcraft.' Eyes drawn entirely to the fine detail of buttons starting at his Adam's apple, Hermione entirely missed the small smirk of triumph.

"Vixen," he hushed quietly, bending slightly to nuzzle her ear as he'd longed to. "You know this song will end, too."

She did not want to sound childish by pouting, but in a voice more morose than she intended, Hermione acknowledged, "I know."

"Unless…"

"Unless?" she asked optimistically, her warm hopeful eyes meeting his and seeing tenderness there.

"Unless we go someplace quiet. To talk, perhaps?"

Fear, cold and forbidding, gripped her chest. _Talk_ was an evil, horrible word.

Severus' glittering black eyes, dancing merrily as he negotiated the dance floor with his wife in his arms, surveyed the hall again. They were garnering quite a bit of unwanted attention, and he noted with a slight bit of anxiety that there was a growing queue of witches waiting for his next dance. Generally, it was considered socially unacceptable for the Best Man to hex the bridesmaids.

His lips thinned into a line of distaste as he noted Jake Edwards, idiot extraordinaire, being quite animated and standing far too close to Draco. Moreover, the Pureblood wizard appeared to return his affections. Whatever viper-tongued comment he intended to make of their …chumminess… died on his lips as he saw Hermione's distress.

"Just talk, my Vixen, like we are doing now. It might be a bit of a scandal to leave before the bride and groom, but I suspect that they'll approve, given their excessive level of meddling. Shall we Apparate?"

"I…" she replied, not quite her most intelligent thought, but her eyes also drifted around the room and her ears noted that it was only a matter of time before the song ended. And really, it wasn't as if they actually could dance _all_ night. Eventually they'd need to run to the loo. The band was bound to take a break. And Hermione wasn't willing to let him go. Not yet.

She hastily nodded her affirmative and allowed him to pull her more securely into the bower of his embrace. Dancing couples swirled about them and with a 'pop' they were gone.

The witches in line spouted various cusswords, none of them very ladylike.

"That's another ten Galleons you owe me," Ginny said with a note of triumph, her head resting on her beloved's shoulder.

Billy, still smiling a stupid grin that hadn't faded all day, affectionately squeezed her. "Yes, my love." He couldn't have been happier to lose a bet either.

A/N:  
Chapter title: Di! Ecce Hora! Uxor Mea Me Necabit! - God, look at the time! My wife will kill me!

We're almost done. Can you believe it? I cannot. Thank you to all my loyal readers. You've given me such wonderful feedback and encouragement. I cannot thank you enough. And to Christev, my megafantastical beta, my heartfelt thanks and praise, and an autographed copy of Severus' book. Schmootches! AV


	59. Chapter 59

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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**Chapter 59 - Da Mihi Basilia Mille**

Hermione opened her eyes and looked out into the backyard of Jake's house. She frowned at the small ever-expandable wedge tent that had been serving as their makeshift production line. R&D had been suspended completely until they could catch up on backorders for product. But that didn't exactly explain why they were 'here' of all places. She was just about to pipe up and query why they weren't at the Homestead as she'd been expecting, when his fingers lightly touched her elbow guiding her into the back kitchen.

Hermione sat dumbfounded at the kitchen table as Severus reached for a gleaming copper kettle and rummaged through the crisper.

"You've been here before," she stated the obvious rather flatly.

Unless he'd taken up the new hobby of breaking and entering to satisfy his rather unhealthy desire for pickled walnuts, Severus was in contact with Jake. He knew which drawer contained what as he prepared tea and a light fruit platter. She had guessed that Jake might have been helping Severus. Small clues added up. Jake could never leave well enough alone, and he was a terrible liar. She had thought she'd caught his lips twitching to suppress a smile several times while they had discussed Severus, but she'd written it off too easily.

"I live in the cellar," Severus confessed casually.

Hermione pivoted quickly, turning towards the unremarkable door. Glaring slightly at his back, she made the decision to investigate while he pottered around making tea. The moment the door wrenched back in her hand, she was assaulted by dust, and loudly sneezed.

Severus smirked.

Following her feet down the rickety wooden stairs of the old Victorian home, Hermione marveled at the dirty room he'd inhabited and wondered how he was able to stand without stooping. A small camp bed was against the wall, Crookshanks spread out atop the threadbare quilt and sleeping with one cocked eye. A card table was near the bed, filled with trinkets and books. And a bookshelf faced the bed laden with canned tomatoes and carrots. The layout suspiciously looked a lot like his prison cell had.

"Traitor," Hermione hissed to the bandy-legged beast as she gave him a good scratch. "You're going to leave cat hair all over his bedding, you know. I don't think he'll like that." Lazy yellow eyes blinked, saying in an instant that neither cared.

Wandering to the card table, Hermione snooped through the bric-a-brac littering it. A Muggle watch, some loose coinage, cuff links, an Order of Merlin, a spare wand holster and some books.

"_The Witch Within_," Hermione read to the silent room before frowning. It was her copy. She turned it over in her hand twice, before inspecting the pages and finding her hand-written notes. Dropping it with a slight thud, she proceeded to inspect all of his books, and discovered, unsurprisingly, that he was worming his way through her library.

"_Exceptional Time Management without Time-Turners_." That book was utter rubbish, and set out unrealistic goals only achievable with Time-Turners. Of course there had been those exhausting three weeks where she'd followed her proposed timetable. But cutting all sleep in favor of housework was more taxing than it was worth.

Just overhead the floorboards creaked, and Hermione confessed to herself that she was avoiding him. Giving one last glare to her ginger tomcat, and surveying Severus' dusty domain, she hefted herself back up the stairs. There was no interest in screaming at him for living below her, skulking about, not when she had seen how…prison-like… his accommodations were.

Dropping heavily back into her chair at the kitchen table Hermione considered their respective positions, and realized that good or bad, whatever came out of their _talk_, they both needed to move on to healthier places. Preferably without Jake.

Just then the kitchen door swung open and one of _her_ elves in a pinafore apron worn inside out came strolling in. She _thought_ she'd glimpsed one when she left for the wedding, but thought perhaps she was imagining things.

Hermione couldn't have been more gobsmacked when Severus barked, "What did I tell you? No smoking in the house. Now, get."

The pint-sized elf shrugged him off and padded out the back door.

Hermione found her voice. "That was…" She struggled for a name. "Tink. Wasn't it?"

"Stink is more like it," Severus snorted.

"Smoking!" Hermione shrieked.

Severus nodded, his eyes resolutely focused on the duty of swirling hot water to prepare the pot.

"And you let her smoke, Severus?"

"Are we really going to fight over this?" he challenged her in a tone that clearly conveyed they had more important things to discuss.

"I'm not going let this go," she sniffed, her feathers ruffled.

"Just what do you propose I do then? Hmmm?" he muttered. "I can't exactly order her around like a house-elf. She's a garden-elf," he clarified.

"Oh… I see," she said, her brow pinched in a way that meant she didn't at all. Even from her S.P.E.W days she hadn't ever heard of a garden-elf. Neither had Severus for that matter, but he suspected she gave herself the title to explain her devious behavior. And Severus could respect that.

"Rehab then?" she suggested.

"Rehab? For an elf? Are you daft, witch? And before you start on me again, answer this: just where are we going to find a rehab program for a nicotine-addicted garden-elf?"

"Oh. I suppose that's a fair point, but still there have to be some books that–" she was interrupted by Severus abruptly putting his hand up, cutting her off.

"Vixen, you're avoiding the real discussion at hand," he said, setting tea out in front of her.

Obnoxiously, Hermione had the most potent desire to pout and stamp her foot. If she had _known_ they were going to talk, she could have prepared her notes and logically organized bullet points. But this… it was like tightrope walking without a net, and what was on the line was their future and any kind of real happiness. Without him, surely she'd grow into an old maid with a grumpy half-Kneazle for companionship. With Severus, her heart clutched with the possibilities of a future.

She hadn't touched much of her meal before. All appetite was gone completely out the window in favor of nerves, which were crashing down upon her, now that they were alone. But clutching the warm china cup of Severus' Earl Grey and inhaling the perfume of bergamot was settling her with calm. It was superficial as she struggled with the fight or flight instinct, but Hermione stayed put despite her fears. Staying with him, the need to resolve their mess was stronger.

"Alright, Severus," she conceded, clutching her teacup.

The only reassurance that she wasn't alone in her predicament was that Severus looked as distinctly uncomfortable as she felt.

He smiled tightly and drew a sharp breath. "Marriage is a partnership," he began weakly, apologizing for the cliché with his eyes. Hermione nodded to give him confidence. "And ours was… not."

Hermione's heart plummeted. It was difficult and frustrating at times… most of the time, but it was what they had, and she wouldn't have traded it for anything.

Severus grimaced when confronted by her look of horror, the lines of his face deepening in consternation. "That's not what I mean. It was… it just. I mean."

His shoulders slumped as the eloquent bestselling author and lauded orator ran dry of his prepared speech. Writing in the dank cell with parchment and quill was easy. He had no one but the stones to talk to and only his echo for companionship. Thoughts flowed freely when there wasn't anyone there to judge. Actually speaking to her, when it was the most important thing he could remember ever having to say, was miserable.

"Damn," Severus whispered. He was cocking it up already. He needed that soft-bellied twit to translate for him, but most likely Jake would be returning home late, if his observations about him and Draco were correct.

Hermione took a fortifying sip of the brew, only barely tasting it. "Oh I don't know, I kinda liked our marriage," she offered hopefully.

Severus gave her a grateful look and pulled his chair closer to hers. Plucking the tea out of her hands and setting it aside, Severus gingerly threaded his fingers through hers. "I liked our marriage too," he rumbled.

Dizzy, lightheaded giddiness melted, replaced by the instant want of her man. Close proximity to the heat of his body, her hands twined with his, made her itch to slide into his lap and follow her instinct.

"Would you like a relationship again?" he asked, his voice not sounding quite as confident, to the witch staring at their joined hands. She lifted her head, her eyelashes wet and her petite mouth working silently as she struggled to answer. The swot with her hand waving in the air to eagerly answer questions seemed to be just as hesitant and choked up as he was.

Hermione wet her lips and spoke from her heart. "I liked our marriage," she repeated. "It wasn't the most ideal situation, trekking back and forth to the prison, but we made the best of it." Her shy sweet smile made his lips turn up with hers.

"We did," he affirmed.

"But you're right, it wasn't a partnership. We were never completely equal. I had the power to take it all away, and you really had nothing over me. And I abused that power."

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, leaving a fan of dark mascara smudges under her eyes. It was maddeningly cute, Severus thought before shaking his head and pulling a handkerchief from his robe pocket. Hermione gratefully took it and swiped at her leaking eyes with an embarrassed blush. The moment she put the handkerchief down, she pulled his hands closer to her and gripped him possessively.

"It was wrong of me to leave you there like that. To go back on my word," she sniffed. "We had an agreement, and it worked. Better than I imagined it would. But I should have respected you, your wishes and your needs. I've learned a lot about penance and… I should have encouraged you, not dictated to you how you'd serve it."

"It wasn't wrong of you to want a real marriage," he soothed tenderly.

"I suppose," she shrugged. "Caught between a rock and a hard place I guess."

"And now?" Severus prompted.

Hermione hadn't realized it, but he had no desire to revisit the sins of their past. Only to move on to their future, if they had one. As gratifying as it was to hear Hermione clearly admit her part in the breakdown of their marriage, he had only one goal: to put a ring back on her finger. Once bound to him, they could talk about it again, another time. Preferably in tangled sheets.

"And now, now I wish I hadn't gotten the annulment. I don't know if I really ever want things to be like they were before… in Azkaban. I really couldn't have spent a lifetime seeing you there," she clarified with a worried look. "But I miss our marriage. Today I wished we were still married. I actually wish that most days."

"As do I."

Hermione's face cracked with a wide hopeful grin.

Severus extracted one abused hand from her death-grip and fished again in his robe pocket feeling around for the thin band of gold. It had been laying on her nightstand since she returned from Australia, and he had swiped it before hastening to the wedding.

His mother had been superstitious about recycling wedding rings. She fiercely believed that any unhappiness in a previous marriage could be passed to the new couple through the rings. But his mother had always been able to suck the joy out of any occasion, and he banished her from his thoughts.

Hermione's eyes hungrily followed the ring, and he knew he would have to badger her to breathe if she didn't inhale. She was unnaturally still and ashen, her fingers twitching lightly in her lap, as if she were restraining them from reclaiming her small bit of metal.

"Forgive me," he cleared his throat, still eying her lack of breathing. "I don't have an engagement ring on me."

The sound of air filling her lungs broke her sharp silence.

"It isn't necessary; I'll marry you today if possible," she said in a rush, her hands scrabbling forward, wrenching her ring from his fingertips.

Happily, Hermione replaced the band of gold on the third finger of her left hand. It never sat on her right hand. Severus smirked and tapped his own Dillusioned wedding ring, holding it up for her inspection.

"Ground rules, Hermione, there will be ground rules. If you can't abide by them, tell me now."

She nodded in agreement, but as much as Severus wanted to take the gesture as understanding that she was giving him carte blanche for everything he wanted, he recognized that she was merely conveying her willingness to listen.

"I will be your husband. Fully. And you, my wife. If you leave my bed or my house, it's because we've agreed on it together. I do not mean to trap you, but I won't have any more separations unless it's something that we can't work through together. Marriage is a partnership," he grimaced remembering the insipid words of her self-help books. "If we can't meet and discuss our issues as partners in this marriage, I don't see how we can make this work."

Sensing no disagreement, Severus plowed onwards. "No more triple strength Liquid Sunshine, no more hasty decisions. I understand that it's commonly believed that married couples should not go to bed angry, and I'm not certain if that is reasonable to ask of either you or me, but we can try.

"I know I can be a pigheaded jackass. And you can be a shrill harpy, but I ask that we work through our difficulties together before making life-altering decisions. We both accept this marriage on equal standing. We're on the same footing now. I have a full pardon and well, we both have the rest of our lives to work out the rest. What say you, Hermione Granger? Will you marry me? Will you finally become Hermione Snape?"

Her absentminded thought was that she had intended to keep her maiden name. She had insisted before that she remain Hermione Granger, but then wasn't that also part of the problem?

She'd seen Severus as disposable to her life. A convenient husband of no consequence. As shameful as she felt for how she must have done poorly by him, she was being given her second chance. And 'Hermione Snape' sounded like a beautiful thing.

"I'd love to, Severus!" she said breathlessly, climbing into his lap to urgently pepper his face with a rain of kisses.

With great remorse, he pulled her slightly back, taking in her mussed look and slightly parted lips. As much as parts of his anatomy were strongly encouraging her affections, the jubilant celebratory pecks weren't precisely the attentions he was seeking.

Lazily, Hermione opened her eyes, just briefly before he wrapped her in his arms, burying his face into the join of her neck. Her skin was warm and smelled like home. She had spritzed perfume hours earlier, he could tell; it still lingered faintly on her skin, mixing with the salt of her body from dancing. As he trailed slowly up the column of her neck to her earlobe, Severus tasted her on his tongue.

"That tickles," she mewled, wriggling slightly in his lap.

Severus smirked, his mouth at her temple, still committing to memory the feel of her wispy strands against his nose, the heat of her skin against his cheek, and the heavenly crush of her soft body in his arms. His witch in his arms again. He'd not cock this up. Never again. Severus turned her to face him, cradling her neck in his hands.

There was a brief hesitation, a meeting of lingering eyes. The fear was there for both of them - rejection had played such a strong role in their lives, but that was the past. In the cinnamon warmth of her eyes, Severus read only longing, and he hoped she saw only the same from him.

The first brush of their lips was just a ghost of softness, a caress. Hermione hummed, pulling back and licking her lower lip, she could feel the remnant of his touch there as if he'd scorched her. Angling her head, insistent on more, there wasn't any hesitancy in their next kiss. Their lips met, sliding with light pressure that made her head swim drowsily. A light touch of his tongue parted her lips, and she opened to him, welcoming the passion of his kiss.

His hands cupped her cheek and wrapped in her hair cradling her against him, causing the delicate French twist to fall completely out and spill her haphazard curls down her back.

It didn't matter.

The overwhelming desire to hold and be held by her love, to savor his kiss and the heartbeat beneath her palms, overruled all objections. In the gentle press of bodies, Hermione returned his ardor as best she could. The light rasp of stubble along his cheek was a thrill. The musculature of his shoulders, once so familiar, deserved to be rediscovered. His cloves and peppermint taste, fanning a smoldering flame of desire in her, needed to be devoured.

If they could breathe as one, happily Hermione thought it should be done. Nothing was more important than the man in her arms.

Severus pulled back to breathe, and she possessively twined her fingers in his sable locks.

"More," she whispered at his lips.

She felt the vibration of his laugh through the press of his chest against her. Her stomach did a quick somersault.

"I was so miserable without you," she confessed mournfully.

Severus smirked, "I had heard that." He nuzzled her ear, tickling the outer shell of her ear with his supple tongue and feeling her sigh against him. "I confess, I was also miserable without you."

"Let's not do that again."

He couldn't agree with her more, but there weren't words to express his feelings.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as she gripped his hair, pulling him down to meet her lips in another demanding kiss she'd been dreaming about since she walked out on him too many painful months ago to recall. Her thoughts abandoned her as his smooth lips parted her mouth, capturing her moan to seal her kiss. Severus' tongue was warm and inviting as it danced against hers. She could blot out their past with his lips against her own.

"Please don't stop," she begged softly, her breath warming his cheek. Hermione's hands aching to rid him of his confounding buttons, to pull his clothing off and strip bare her man. "Please stay with me tonight."

The guest bedroom with all of it's battenburg lace and toile was not home, and it wasn't what she'd had in mind, but if they could stumble that way and fall into bed, maybe it would solidify everything between them.

"No, Hermione."

It pained him to play these games. She was his witch and would always be his witch; the nonsense she'd concocted about their annulment would never be right. The wizarding world did not believe in divorce and neither did Severus, and though her body had never been totally his, her heart belonged to him. Just as his heart belonged to her. Of that he held no doubt. But he couldn't afford to risk it again, not to her playful whims.

She had it within her power to destroy him, and he could never be so vulnerable again. 'Tie her to you. Bind her to your soul. Entwine your essences as man and wife. As it should be,' these thoughts raced through his head and as he reluctantly pulled back and witnessed the crushing blow of true tears welling up thickly in her eyes, he knew it would be for the best.

They could only move forward, they had to move forward; neither could afford to return to where they had been.

"But soon," he shushed, placing a finger on her quivering lip. "Soon, Hermione. When I make you mine. Forever. No more annulments, no more games. You will be my wife and take your place in my bed."

It wasn't posed as a question, but he steeled his heart for her rejection. A stifled sob broke out from his witch just as she buried her head into his chest leaning on his frame for strength. He held her tight and rested his own face against her mass of curls. Her face was red and blotchy, puddles of tears framed her eyes and slight tremors still raced through her, but she kissed him again gently and Severus allowed himself to be warmed by her love.

It would be alright. They would endure. He would have his witch, and she would have her wizard, as it was meant to be.

"And when I do claim you as mine, wife, there will be no question of it."

She giggled and hiccuped at the same time, a most unbecoming act on most females, but not on his Hermione. She was perfect. She was everything.

"Tonight, then?" she asked suddenly, taking him off guard.

"Tonight, what?" The apprehension he felt creeping into his voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You asked me to marry you, can we do it tonight? Right now would be preferable."

Severus blinked rapidly at her, not entirely processing this new line of thinking. His entire goal had been to get her to accept him and build a new life together, but that seemed likely to take place in the distant future. He'd also assumed she'd want a wedding of some sort, with uncomfortably stiff robes and organ music.

"I'm not sure we can get married at this hour, Hermione," he said slowly eying the kitchen clock. The sun had set and a hard blowing winter's wind was turning the night into the perfect evening to wrap her up in blankets and sip chocolate in the front room.

"Why not?" she countered with her stubborn chin. Hermione was hell-bent to prove herself. Unwittingly, Severus had issued a challenge to her, 'be his wife,' and she would not be found lacking. And she would not ever again spend weeks on end sniveling on a friend's couch. No, never again.

Reading Gryffindors, especially when they had an idea up their snout, was painfully easy; unfortunately Severus knew well enough that she would not let the idea go until she'd exhausted herself in the process.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, patting himself on his shoulder for seeking a resolution through possible compromise. (It was a chapter in the book she had underlined and highlighted.)

Hermione smiled mischievously, and Severus was instantly on point. "Hermione," he asked with a warning voice, dreading what was coming, even if he got to make her his bride. She scrabbled up from his lap, kissed the top of his head and disappeared into her guest room. As much as his knees and thighs were relieved by the loss of her weight, Hermione belonged there, squirming against his groin and within a kissable distance.

She reentered the room with a fat blue folder in her hands and Severus 'tsk'd.' He would not be thrown over for working on Granger Industries, but then everything with her was organized into fat blue folders.

"Phillipe Hodgeport," She announced. "I bet I can look his address up online."

"Who?" Severus asked bewildered.

"Phillipe Hodgeport," Hermione repeated rolling her eyes. "He was the Ministry stooge they sent to perform our marriage. Did you know he lost his job over that? I always felt guilty about it."

"And?" Severus gruffly asked. Honestly, he couldn't give two shits about some Ministry underling when there were curls to wind around his fingers and napes to nuzzle.

"You want to get married," she said as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "Correction, we want to get married," Hermione couldn't withhold her wide grin, and Severus knew he'd entered the land of the land of a married man. Hermione had him completely, and he might as well hand over his passport and wallet now, and take up saying 'yes, dear' at every opportunity. There wasn't much he wouldn't do to make her happy or smile like that.

"I figure," Hermione continued, "that if he manages to marry us a second time, and we ask nicely, maybe we can get him his job back."

"Why on earth would I care about that?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. And don't you want to marry me?" she asked in a peevish and uncertain  
voice. There would be no uncertainty. No, if Hermione wanted to marry him right that night, Severus was the wizard to do it.

"I just thought you wanted a wedding," he grumbled loud enough.

"No. Weddings are... nice, but it's our marriage that's most important." She flashed him another broad grin and Severus found he really couldn't argue. Yep, the witch already had him by his bollocks. Well, it would mostly be a partnership.

She pulled out her laptop and tapped the keys lightly and letters flew across the screen as he looked over her shoulder. Amazing witch. She could type quickly and without stubbing her fingers.

"Ah-ha!" she proclaimed after a moment. "I have an address, and it's close by. I bet we can take Jake's car. Feel like dropping by?"

"Absolutely."

"And maybe afterwards we can go out for late night beer and pizza." Her tummy loudly announced that it wished to be fed now that she was over her bout of nerves.

"I assure you Vixen, that's not how we will spend our wedding night."

A/N:  
Chapter title: Da Mihi Basilia Mille - Kiss me with a thousand kisses

Lots of love to Christev for betaing this. Even when she was supposed to be someplace else...hm? I saw that laptop in front of you when you were singing! I know TGC was on it! *grins* She was gone for the week and I was utterly incapable without her. I couldn't even do my Saturday Night Drabbling.

My heart to everyone who's read and reviewed.


	60. Chapter 60

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**WARNING: NOT work-safe**

**Chapter 60 - Et Uxor**

* * *

Speeding through traffic, though lights, Hermione drove with one hand on the wheel, one hand on the clutch, and her mobile clenched between shoulder and ear.

Severus feared for his life.

Hermione, always the detail-oriented planner, was hastily trying to find a last-minute witness for their ceremony. She did not handle last minute details well, and appeared to be taking her frustration out on the road.

Severus felt justified in fearing for his life.

"Damnation!" she screeched. "Jake's not answering his phone, and all the Weasleys are still at the wedding. There's no way in hell I'm calling Harry, and I can't think of too many other people I know who have Muggle phones!"

"Hermione!" Severus yelped in a higher note than he intended as she switched lanes. He hadn't thought she'd seen the truck in her blind spot, but Hermione gunned the engine and whipped around him.

"Oh wait, I have an idea!"

Severus swore, from that moment on, he would get rid of the trilling device. Besides, if done properly, she'd hardly miss it when they relocated to the Homestead. Severus had several ideas on how to keep her distracted.

Hermione frantically made another phone call, and fortunately was successful in arranging for a witness.

* * *

The small shuttered home at the end of the nondescript street did not scream 'a wizard lives here.' It was perfectly mundane in appearance – from its bland color scheme to its uniformly clipped hedges now blanketed in snow.

The sole occupant, a Mr. Phillipe Hodgeport, did not entertain guests, and discrete perimeter wards discouraged salesmen. The wards, however, did not prevent the cherry red VW Golf from rolling up at 9:30 in the evening. The small car gave a slight shudder, echoed by one of its passengers, and shut off.

"We're here!" Hermione unnecessarily announced.

Stiff fingers and white knuckles slowly pried themselves apart as Severus heaved a gulp of air. He sneered at the unremarkable house and intoned, "So I see."

Folded like an accordion and wheezing slightly like one, Severus intended to Apparate back. Let the Muggle authorities confiscate the abandoned vehicle.

Gingerly getting out on rubbery legs, Severus shot a parting scowl for the fuel-efficient economy roadster.

"Has Jacob fallen on hard times?" He asked as they approached the darkened house, treading lightly on the barely cleared icy walk. Not even a porch light greeted them.

"Is he destitute?"

At Hermione's questioning glance, Severus elaborated, "That house-elf sized auto is unfit for travel. I banged my knees. Twice!"

"Oh, don't be such a grump. We're about to be married."

German engineering aside, nothing would ruin the prospects for her evening, and Severus was inclined to agree. Except of course, if the Stooge was out for the night.

The doorbell chimed a few times before hesitant footsteps could be heard from within. Out of habit, Severus' wand discretely slid down to his waiting palm. The yellow porch light flicked on, and a thin graying wizard in bathrobe and booties opened the door, adjusting his glasses.

"Hello," he said, prior to recognizing his nighttime callers.

Before Hermione could eagerly launch into her prepared speech, the wizard forcefully shut the door on them.

Severus and Hermione exchanged glances that clearly read –

'_You should have expected this.' _

'_Yes, I know, but I had to try.'_

Severus shrugged, indicating, _'What do you want to do now? The ball is in your court.'_

Hermione raised her hand and began insistently knocking. The abused door was wrenched open, the peevish wizard looking most harassed.

"Mr. Hodgeport, sir, it's very important that we see you," Hermione said in a rush, before the door could be slammed in her face again. Dutifully, and out of consideration to his bride, Severus wedged the toe of his boot into the door jam.

"Go away," Hodgeport whined.

Hermione shot Severus a helpless look, and he restrained himself from rolling his eyes. If she wanted in, they'd have to do it his way.

Severus pushed the wizard out of his path, and stalked into the living room that had died in the 1950s.

"What do you people want from me?" he asked, his voice quavering as he backed up several feet from his intruders. The dipshit didn't even have the common sense to go for his wand. He probably didn't even have it on him.

Hermione enthusiastically replied, "We want to get married."

The Ministry Stooge visibly paled several shades. It wasn't a good look for him, given his complexion; it exaggerated his age spots. His eyes darted quickly between Hermione, who was beaming with a flushed face, and Severus, who still had his wand at the ready and resembled a Death Eater sans mask.

"You're insane," he alleged. "You must be trying to kill me."

He removed his oversized glasses and scrubbed at his eyes, until conceding that the apparitions in front of him were likely real. "Not on your life," he wailed, starting to grow a small backbone. "Did you know I was moved to Goblin relations because of that debacle? Did you know that Goblins hate me? Filthy creatures keep biting me."

He raised his fingers and showed off his bandages. Hermione smiled weakly, tight lines furrowing between her brows.

"Yes, well, I suppose I ought to apologize for that. I really didn't think that our annulment would cause you any problems." Hermione shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and looked to Severus for some kind of assistance.

He arched an incredulous eyebrow. She was on her own with this one.

As far as Severus was concerned, she should have known damn well that someone was going to take the fall for their very public annulment. Guilty or not, the Ministry always needed a patsy.

Hermione plowed on with a falsely cheerful smile to hide her blushing embarrassment. "You see, we're interested in getting married again, no annulments, I promise. For real this time."

Hodgeport blinked at her as if she were nutters. Severus carefully weighed that question. His bride wasn't perfect. She might be nutters. Hermione was obnoxiously Gryffindor and often inconsiderate. Still, Severus was a glutton for punishment, and Hermione was just the witch to give as good as she got.

"And I'm hoping that if you marry us, you might be able to get your old job back."

"Pfffth!" Hodgeport snorted, waving her away. "There's no chance of that. The whole Department is closing and getting reassigned, now that the Marriage Law is about to be overturned."

Hermione stamped her foot and clenched her fists in frustration.

Pinching his deeply furrowed brows, Severus sighed. He knew he was going to regret what he was about to say. Compromise was a foundation of marriage. Keeping his bride happy on their wedding day was definitely a foundation of marriage. If the Hufflepuff twit had been there, he would have been so effing proud.

"May I point out," he drawled slowly, "that as soon as we leave here, I have no doubt that you'll Floo the _Daily Prophet_ and make a fistful of gold off of this exclusive news story. Furthermore, by personally rectifying this nasty bit of marriage business, it should raise you quite high in the Ministry's esteem. We both know you should be able to request reassignment to whatever Department your little pogue heart desires."

The Ministry Stooge brightened considerably and beckoned them forward.

"Well of course I can marry you," he said straightening up and using his most officious 'Ministry voice.' "I am certified to perform all twelve requisite charms, and I have seal privileges to file the paperwork. I can even do that for you Monday morning."

"Tonight," Severus interrupted.

"But… but…" he sputtered.

"Tonight." The pinch was back between his brows. If Severus didn't get this over with and his wife on her back in less than twenty minutes, he swore he would become the next Dark Lord. "Do it tonight or I'll Obliviate you and we'll be on our way. Then you can spend Monday morning, and every day after that, as a chew toy for the Goblins."

Nervously wetting his lips, Hodgeport nodded quickly. Hermione looked ready to pipe up with something, most likely an apology, but Severus silenced her with a sharp look.

Severus loved her dearly, but she could cock up the most simple of intimidations with her apologies. It was no wonder that she was paying her pure-blood suppliers too much. She probably had never once threatened them or used extortion to get a better deal. It never really paid to be nice. If anyone wanted to argue the matter, they just needed to look to the Order as an example.

It took the Dark Lord destroying half the Ministry building before anyone would believe the 'nice guys.' Had Severus been allowed to 'convince' Fudge, he could have made him a believer the same day he'd shown him his pretty tattoo, but Albus had wanted to play nice. That stalling had cost them dearly in Muggle and wizarding lives.

Hodgeport led them into a sitting room and grabbed his wand from a side table that held a plate of biscuits and cooling over-milked tea. He was a Ministry Stooge, but he wasn't an idiot. Any wizard could count just how many coins Skeeter would pay for the inside exclusive into their elopement.

"So that's it," he said, adjusting his glasses from sliding down his nose, "you're in love then, eh?"

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the room. Severus watched Hermione twitch nervously at his side, no doubt summoning her courage.

"Don't be a daft fool. Of course we are." Severus turned to his bride, smirking at her with a superior look. For decades he would have full rights to claim that he'd confessed it first. That was the sort of needling he could use to twist Hermione up into a full fury.

"Why else would we be getting married," Hermione rejoined with a nasty sniff.

Clenching his teeth, he glared at her. She was not going to steal this one from him just because she insisted on them getting married that evening.

"I've been in love with her for ages. My Vixen is the perfect witch for me."

The fight was in her eyes, as Hermione prepared to one-up him again, but then they softened.

"Really?" she asked timidly.

Putting his arm around her and pulling her soft curves tight against his side, Severus kissed the top of her frizzy, untamed head affectionately. "Don't be silly, Hermione. You've known my heart has belonged only to you for a long time."

And if she didn't, come morning, Severus was going to ensure that she did.

Hermione swallowed softly and whispered into his robes too low for the Stooge to hear, "And Lily?"

There it was. Her greatest fear. She waited, chewing her bottom lip for an answer that could break her heart.

It was his greatest fear too.

He hadn't wanted to share Lily with her. Severus had purposely obfuscated all references to the redheaded witch in his book because of Hermione. He could only hope that the Potter brat had kept his damn mouth shut. But despite all his hopes, it appeared Hermione knew about Lily. His know-it-all bookworm was too intelligent for her own good.

"I had hoped to keep that from you," he murmured, feeling her stiffen against him. Cupping her chin gently, Severus tilted her head up to meet her eyes, and dropped all of his shielding. She would know that he spoke from his heart. "I worried that if you knew about her you'd be jealous or angry. Lily meant a great deal to me."

He worried about confessing to her that he'd loved Lily for a long time. That she'd misunderstand and run away. This is why he'd wanted to protect her. This is why he'd feared she'd find out.

"The love that I felt - and still feel - for her will never go away. It's a part of me, intrinsic to who I am. But it doesn't change how much I love you, Hermione. It's different."

He searched her eyes for some sign of understanding. It was different. He'd never thought he was the kind of man who could love two different women. He had fundamentally believed there was one witch out there for him, and for years that witch was personified as Lily. The idea that a man could be so lucky as to love twice had seemed so removed from him until Hermione had walked into his damp and smelly cell with her nose wrinkled up, spouting outrageous demands that he marry her.

"I love you." Severus closed his eyes and worried that he sounded sad and pathetic. Whiny and Hufflepuff. And if Hermione couldn't accept the declaration, he didn't know what he would do. Possibly lock himself in the dusty cellar for the next century.

Hermione touched his cheek. "I love you too." She gave him an encouraging smile that lifted his bleak and sad little heart.

All would be well.

"Don't expect me to say it very often," he warned her, trying to recapture what was left of his battered masculinity in a gruff and grumbling tone. "Just on holidays and special occasions. Understood?"

Hermione's lips quirked up into a wry grin. "Understood."

"Excuse me," Hodgeport chimed in, interrupting their moment. "Do you have a witness?"

Hermione smiled brightly, turning towards him, and Severus slipped his arms around her waist. His fingers fanned out along her ribcage as he pressed himself neatly against her back. Standing possessively with his witch in his arms, Severus hoped her surprise witness would arrive soon. With her curly head tucked up underneath his chin, he only wanted to reclaim his wife.

"Er, um, yes. If you give me your Floo address, he'll come on through."

A few moments of quick conference later, and Severus was reluctantly forced to give up his prize while she worked out the finer details. It wasn't until Ffoulkes stumbled out of the Stooges' Floo, hastily clothed in robes and clutching a good bottle of red wine, that he paused to consider again that Hermione wasn't getting a proper wizarding wedding.

Not that they'd had one before.

If she was strained or upset about the notion, she didn't show it.

He wandered over to the side table where Hermione and his solicitor were looking over a parchment.

Severus cocked a faintly amused eyebrow. "Is that what I think it is?"

Hermione shrugged. "We're just getting rid of what's no longer applicable. There's no point in dictating how often I'll visit you or clean your cell." Her smile instantly twisted up into a pinched grimace.

Several lines of their original marriage contract were hastily tapped out by Ffoulkes' wand.

Severus insisted that her financial rights to her company stay.

Deeply unhappy, Hermione insisted that they share the financial rights to _their_ company.

There was only one equitable solution. And both were anxious to demonstrate their ability to compromise.

Severus readily agreed to sharing his stake in Granger Industries in exchange that Hermione rid herself of all present and future Muggle cellular phones and promise to take a defensive driving class.

It turned out to be the only clause left in the document. Which they all readily agreed made for a uniquely odd marriage contract, but one that suited them perfectly.

"I think we're ready now," Ffoulkes announced, satisfied, as soon as both had quilled their signatures.

"Excellent!" Hodgeport said giddily, brandishing his wand. "Just one question, though, are we using the Ministry-approved Fidelity charm then, or the Full Fidelity charm as before?"

"Full," Hermione interjected before Severus could answer. She turned hastily to him, warmth shining in her eyes, while a quirky smile graced her lips.

Tight lines pinched his brow, and Severus considered arguing. He'd insisted before to manipulate her. It followed to figure that even the most sexually frigid witch would need to find relief someplace. He'd done it to be a total bastard, to pull her down from her smug superiority as she would have been forced to beg him. But the desire to hurt her had dissipated long ago.

Yes, he was possessive of his Hermione, but magical conditions were unhealthy. She even had a useful self-help book on the matter.

Ffoulkes was ready to intercede, pointing out that she was not contract bound.

"I want to," Hermione reaffirmed. Lacking all desire for anyone other than her soon-to-be husband, Hermione didn't even entertain the thought that she'd ever stray. Adultery was simply not something she would ever consider. And thinking back to the asshole in the bar, it was a damn fine way of keeping undesirable wizards away.

"Then I will do the same," Severus stated, daring her to object with a hard look.

Hermione merely responded with a nod. It appeared she was just as possessive of his person. Given the lusty witches pursuing him, that wasn't a bad thought either.

"Fine, fine," Hodgeport acknowledged, drawing them in a small circle around his wand.

"Dearly beloved," he began. This time nobody rolled their eyes. "We are gathered here to witness the marriage of Severus Theodore Snape and Hermione Jean Granger. If anyone here has any objections to their union please speak now." There was only a slight pause before he began again. "Do you have the rings?"

Hermione glanced down to the unadorned gold band on her hand wistfully, hating to remove it even for the ceremony. The plain circle belonged there.

But she did, removing it at the same time he sheepishly removed his.

Close enough that she could feel his body heat, Hermione clasped his hand in hers as she slid the ring quickly back on his finger where the skin was lighter and slightly indented, placing it right where it belonged. As he slid the thin circle of gold smoothly up her finger, he leaned in, ribbons of inky black hair spilling onto her cheek, tickling the skin. She could smell him, like dust and dry parchment, a masculine odor, with lingering traces of shaving soap.

The overwhelming desire to lift her chin and slide her tongue along the stubble on his jawline was tempting. Her toes flexed in her boots, to surge up and do it, but the Ministry Stooge's voice interrupted them.

"Will you, Severus Theodore Snape, pledge your steadfast and abiding love to Hermione, uphold the terms of your matrimonial contract, and support the Ministry-approved guidelines governing the sacred and holy bond of marriage?"

"I will," he replied in a velvety growl as he still gripped her fingertips.

"Will you, Hermione Jean Granger, pledge your steadfast and abiding love to Severus, uphold the terms of your matrimonial contract, and support the Ministry-approved guidelines governing the sacred and holy bond of marriage?"

Her knees weak and her throat suddenly dry, Hermione whispered, "I will."

"Then by the power invested in me by the Ministry of Magic, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

The actual ceremony took mere seconds. Much shorter than she remembered their first one had. While Hodgeport raised his wand, swishing the final surges of magic around them, Severus leaned the rest of the way as Hermione rose to meet him.

Unlike their first ceremony, she could feel the magic of their bonds tripping all around them, dancing down their skin, as his lips pressed to hers. She had spat before. Now, Hermione hungrily opened to him, holding his body to hers, tasting his kiss incoherently with her hungry mouth.

Her husband was kissing her back. Greedily, passionately, possessively. With clutching fingers and locked lips, Hermione rubbed herself against him, aching for contact. The hideous sateen bridesmaid frock rustled as she shifted, and behind her Hermione dully registered that Ffoulkes had cleared his throat.

Pausing, there was a whispered thought, shared between them.

"Homestead?" Severus asked in a labored voice.

Hermione numbly nodded before returning her wet and pouting lips to his.

The crush of Apparition smothered her and would have sucked out all breath, if she had had any.

Stepping back on the aged hardwood floor, Hermione inhaled deeply.

"Did we just ditch them?" she inquired.

Sardonically, Severus shot her a look that managed to point out at the same time that she had the answer to her question, and wasn't she silly for asking it. His hands caressed her hips before he pressed into her for more drugging kisses. A vague growing awareness of eyes upon them caused Hermione to shift back, breaking the kiss, but not losing the connection.

"Oh my," she whispered, ending the trance that Severus was under as he looked up from nuzzling her collar bone. "We have an audience."

Severus scowled at the gathered elves. And were it possible, he thought there were at least twenty more than when he counted last. He was tempted to investigate, but with his arms already occupied and an insistent erection pressing into his bride's belly, Severus hadn't any desire to give it another thought.

Daisy came forward, wringing her hands in glee, "We is –"

"Forbidden from interrupting us," Severus growled, grabbing Hermione's hand as the sea of elves parted for them.

Hermione giggled madly, knowing that she'd smooth over their hurt feelings when they got around to leaving the bedroom, but not caring much as he tugged her in that direction. All the giddiness came rushing back, along with a thrill of moisture between her legs.

At the door to the Master suite, he pinned her against the frame, lacing his fingers with hers. Held up by the pressure of his body on her, the wicked heat of his loins traveling between their clothing to touch her skin, Hermione kissed him until she needed his body to support hers.

His greedy kisses slowed and stilled, and he pierced her with an unreadable look as she recovered. Soft eyes traced the lines of his face, drowning in his gaze, as he cleared his throat. "Will you be mine, Madam Snape?"

Wrinkling her nose and brow, Hermione made a slight moue of distaste. "We're going to have to come up with something better than Madam. I know it's de rigueur for wizards, but it makes me think of a whorehouse."

A perfectly arched dark eyebrow lifted into his hairline as he considered her request. "I'm certain we can reach a more suitable accord, wife."

"Oh yes, already I like that much better," Hermione affirmed, tilting her head to the side to give him renewed access to her collar bone.

"Vixen," Severus murmured, nuzzling the soft flesh there. She knew he would take what she so readily offered, and he couldn't help himself. He'd forgotten how much of a pushy witch she could be in bed, and lazily he thought he could care less. It was one more thing to love about her. Better a witch who could strip her own knickers off and order him to perform for her than a demure one who laid there staring at the ceiling.

His lips curled around the delicate juncture of her throat and shoulder, nipping at the skin and tasting her once more, listening to her breathing became more labored, and he idly thought that staring at the bedroom ceiling was a much better location than a ruddy corridor. And a bed was a decent idea. All his blood rushing south to fuel his throbbing hard-on had left him a touch lightheaded.

Twisting his fingers away from hers briefly enough to thrust open the door, Severus backed her into the room. She followed his steps as he moved, just as she had on the dance floor, a tuneless waltz to the oversized bed, where he pushed her down with a flop.

Bending elbows, Hermione struggled up to glare at her husband. He would not push her around again. Those were the words immediately on her lips, a shrill chastisement that died the moment her eyes fastened on his efficient disrobing. His deft fingers worked the thin row of pearl buttons at his cuffs, and he smirked to see he had her full attention. Severus drew the fine linen shirt, heavily creased by the day's activities, from his trouser placket and began stripping the buttons back.

Hermione stole the moment to pitch her painfully tight high heels and sensible but frumpy knee-high stockings into a corner.

By the time he'd peeled the shirt from his shoulders, Hermione was tugging and cursing the zipper under her sleeve. Kneeling between her parted legs, he stilled her desperate fingers with a low shushing sound and his hand covering hers. Moving over her body, Severus rested gingerly on top of her, placing the heft of his weight on his elbows.

"I think perhaps this is my job."

"Oh?" she questioned, chuckling lightly. "Some kind of wedding night tradition?"

"Hermione," he drawled, his silky voice taking on heat and his dark eyes glittering as he stared down at her, "Allow me to make this night, these memories, better than our first wedding night."

The desire to curl her legs around his torso and grip him with her thighs, to pull down into her needy core, was only hindered by their clothing - Severus' trousers and the cut of Hermione's god-awful bridesmaid dress didn't permit her to move so much as an inch.

Gripping the metal zipper, he pulled it down her side, revealing creamy white skin as the groaning sound of teeth unzipping and shallow breathing filled their intimate space. Severus looked at the long pink mark the zipper had left in its path and traced it gently with a finger.

"As always, you're frightfully dressed," he muttered.

"What does that mean?"

Severus thought of all her dirty trainers and tight Muggle jeans that had been a pain in the arse to remove. Her prim business robes. And now the evergreen frock that would be burned before the morning sun rose, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. He was not so new at being a husband to not know how to keep his own counsel, but Hermione needed a distraction from the comment, and Severus was more than willing to oblige.

Groaning, he rolled over to his side, bereft for the moment of her heated warmth. Hermione tilted, poised no doubt to ask another damnable question, just as he pulled her to him, finding her lips with his own. Encouraging his hands to seek the hem of her gown, she helped him pull it up and heave it off.

"Ah, heaven," he whispered as her lace-covered breasts came into view. "Delicious."

There needed to be a charm to remove Muggle bras, he thought as one hand groped behind her back. It would have been simpler to devote time and attention to the task, but he was distracted by reacquainting himself with the valley of her soft bosom. Tracing the exposed flesh with the tip of his tongue, Severus cupped her breasts and squeezed just enough to get Hermione to gasp for him. Mercifully, she unhooked the bra and flung it off, and Severus was enough of a gentleman to permit her. Burying his face between her sweet, lush mounds, he sighed happily. With one of her pink nipples - nipples he'd thought of so often while wanking - pressed to his lips, Severus blissfully laved the tight bud, rolling and pinching the other in counterpoint.

Hermione's hips straddled him, pinning him as she undulated over his body, grinding her pelvis into his straining groin. The crotch of her panties, wet with her dew, tugged mercilessly on her clitoris as it rubbed against the cloth of his trousers. Frustrated and so close to climax, Hermione insinuated one hand between them before Severus growled and batted her hand away.

Gripping her hips and thrusting uselessly a few times, his hard erection finding no relief between them, Severus flipped her, rolling effortlessly on the massive bed. In the back of his mind, Severus devilishly began to imagine all the Hermione-shaped indentations he could make in the course of their marriage. Pulling back, he cupped her mound, stroking her panty-covered folds, stimulating her with the material as she writhed before him. The moisture on his fingers and the scent of her womanhood in his nostrils made him weak for his witch.

Hooking his fingers around the curve of her hips and pulling her knickers off, Severus inhaled them, smelling her perfume. A predatory smirk crossed his lips momentarily, before tossing the scrap of cloth over his shoulder. Hermione wantonly spread her thighs for him, peeling back the folds of her nether lips to expose herself completely before him, and fingering herself shamelessly.

He dropped to his knees, hungrily licking his lips and pulling her forward, and dragged her across the coverlet until his huffing breath could reach her curls. Hermione wore a predatory smile of her own.

Painfully aroused, only self control held Severus from driving into her willing body. The knowledge that if he indulged in the desire, he'd spend himself like a schoolboy in fifteen seconds or less, held him back. And unlike a schoolboy, he was unlikely to remain erect and spend again every half hour.

Her breathy hitches as he spread her dampness in circles around her pretty clit and the press of his palm against her thigh were reminders that he was not a young wizard – at a young age he wouldn't have possessed the self control or appreciation for the little trickle of slickness that came from her. Moist and hot and heavenly, was his only thought as he caught that trickle with his tongue, lapping her essence as her knees vainly tried to close behind his head. Tracing the path upwards with the broad flat of his tongue, Severus groaned at the delicious taste of her.

Her hands fisted in the bed sheets, wringing her knuckles white, as he swirled the tip of his tongue around the center of her pleasure. Tipping back her head sensually, Hermione shivered lightly with the force of a small orgasm. Her lips parted to gasp for breath and recover as he demonstrated his oral skills, pressing wet sucking kisses to her clit without mercy. The little explosions that centered in her damp folds, blossoming and radiating out, were building. Clenching and shaking, Hermione rode the waves of sensations as his dancing tongue tripped over her sensitized flesh.

Her whimpers only made him chuckle.

She quaked and twisted her hips on his face, burying his rigid nose between her folds with abandon, while he played her body. His lips smacked loudly, pulling her clit gently with his teeth before soothing the tender flesh with his mouth. Hermione's thighs flexed again, smothering him in her heat, nearly to the point where Severus couldn't breathe. He gripped her hips, digging his fingers into her fleshy curves, and yanked her further off the bed, cupping her bottom in his palms before burying his face in her essence again.

Firmly massaging her rounded bum, he tongued her slit as she thrashed, arching her back. She keened, her molten honey flowing from her quim to his ready lips.

He could feel the trembling quivers in her thighs, between her legs and in her knees as she came down from her shuddering orgasm. Severus blew cool air between her legs until she squirmed and covered herself with her hands. Chuckling, Severus sat back on his haunches and proudly considered his bride. The sheen of perspiration coated her chest and forehead, and she looked like a witch ready for a good fucking.

The thought stalled as he recalled it was their wedding night. Again, as much as he wanted to ram into her, pulling them both into a needy, screaming climax, to fuck her hard on the end of his cock and drive her across the coverlet – he was supposed to be a gentleman. He could fuck his wife any night of the week, he growled, gathering her attention. Having his bride on their wedding night was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Gentlemen still needed to get undressed. And as she panted, sucking in air, Severus stood before her, his burning black eyes locked onto her widening brown eyes. Without breaking eye contact, Severus unlatched his belt, stripping it smoothly through belt loops, and dropping it with a clattering thud on the hardwood floor. Twisting buttons through buttonholes, Severus made quick work of his trousers, and grinned when he revealed – per usual – he wasn't wearing any underpants, but he was wearing embarrassingly ugly socks and his dress shoes.

Hermione kept any caustic comments to herself as he doffed socks and shoes. Besides, she was too riveted to the sight of his body before her. It hadn't changed much, Severus ruefully reflected. All of her beer and pizza dinners had fattened him up to normal weight, until she left him in the squalid cell and he'd starved himself. Jacob had done his part to help him regain his strength and weight, but nothing could chase away ugliness.

If she thought he was ugly, it didn't show either. Blessedly, mercifully, Hermione's eyes were shining full of appreciation for him and his abused body. His straining cock, arching over his belly, also had nabbed her attention.

She scrabbled up on the bed, her knees digging into the mattress as she held her arms out to him, caressing his chest with her palms and drawing him to her body.

"I missed you," she whispered honestly, her cheek resting at his shoulder. Her arms moved behind his back to rub and warm the muscles there.

Overcome and unable to speak in a moment of weakness, Severus kissed the top of her head affectionately. It would have to suffice.

With care, and a gentle touch that calmed as much as it inflamed, Hermione dragged her fingernails down his sides, scratching and prickling up nerve endings.

"Wicked witch."

"A Vixen, I'm told," she responded smugly.

Tilting her head back, she offered her lips for kissing, his mouth replete with her flavor. She smiled as he gasped when her fingers circled his cock. Severus threw his head back clenching his eyes, the knot of his Adam's apple was bared to her close enough that she could lick it and taste the rasp of stubble on her tongue.

Blotting out all sensation was difficult as Hermione distracted him with teasing kisses to his puckering nipples, but the feel of her hand around him, gripping his shaft, fingers flexing lightly into his sack had him hot and wanting. Gritting his teeth, Severus tried to jerk his hips, free his cock from her hands before he messed the bed sheets.

"Hermione, please," he pleaded. It had been so long that he'd gone without her touch, and even before then the years were not worth mention. She gripped him tighter, but stopped stroking the glistening tip of his manhood.

"I can't tell you how many times I've imagined this moment," she said, stilling her movement to obscenely savor his fluid from her fingertips. "Have you thought of it? You and I making love together? Here in this bed?"

"Yes," he said, his voice rasping slightly. Full and complete sentences were drained from him, as if the blood flowing into his cock robbed him of coherent thoughts.

Hermione paused to consider the matter, taking too damned long, Severus thought, at leaving him hanging. "In the shower?"

Eyes shut tightly as she resumed her ministrations to his cock, Severus hissed through clenched teeth, "Yesss."

"Will you fuck me in the shower then, Severus?" she teased in a mock-innocent voice. "I built it for us."

Bollocks tingling with aching need to release; he hung his head and conceded defeat. His pushy witch could have him however she pleased. Gentleman or not, Severus hadn't the ounce of ability to deny her, not when her body heat was pressed so close to his. Not when her tightened nipples dragged against his skin.

"Oh gods!" he pleaded.

Sifting her fingers through his soft, ink spill hair, Hermione drew nails down his scalp and tugged on his earlobes making him rumble and purr as they kissed. The feel of his warm cock trapped between them was intoxicating to her, too. They had been intimate before. But never had she known the joy of being with him fully, and it was a pleasure they both intended to remember.

Fingers lacing through his, Hermione slowly shifted back and gingerly pulled him along with her until Severus lay atop her, settling into place, his hips cradled between hers. She could feel the press of his hardened length against her pulsing clitoris and sighed.

She whimpered, thrashing her head side to side as he thrust, grinding his erection along her opened folds, building her arousal. And had she been coherent enough to find words, she would have begged him to end her exquisite torture.

"Hermione," he breathed, pressing his wet head to her opening. "Please look at me."

Panting, she lifted her head from the mattress and opened her eyes wide to see an image she would keep with her forever, as Severus guided his tip into her, groaning and gritting his teeth. His shoulder length hair swung forward and skirted his chin, and with nostrils flared and liquid black eyes cataloging her every feature, Severus slowly sank into her.

Divine.

It was her only thought, as her legs tilted back to receive more of him and wrapped around his waist.

Divine.

The first fill of him fitting perfectly into her, settling comfortably against her pelvis. As thrilling as a first kiss. Both groaned in unison.

"I shall always want to remember you like this," he whispered, pausing to kiss her again.

Drowsily, Hermione smiled. "Just make love to me every time you need a reminder."

Severus swallowed thickly and tried to regain his strength. It would be a fast wedding night if he gave into his baser instincts. She was wetter than he had imagined; a tight sleeve that held him from tip to base. And when she flexed her muscles around him… Severus' eyes shut tight reeling from the urge to immediately spend.

"Witch, please…" There weren't words he could use that wouldn't embarrass him, but as she teased him with her clenching quim, Severus gave up. Marriage would have to be based upon honesty. Blunt, brutal, embarrassing honesty. "If you keep doing that," he gritted, "I shall be forced to disappoint you. I had hoped to bring you off twice more before you killed me."

Hermione giggled and snorted, earning her a sharp glare, even as his most beloved appendage was lodged deep within her.

"What's so funny?" he demanded, his pride insulted.

"You," Hermione giggled again, rolling her eyes.

"I fail to see how I amuse you so."

"Severus," she countered obnoxiously, giving him a short thrust of her own hips, "we're married now. And I for one intend to have you as often as I can. There is no disappointing here. There won't be any."

Cocking his head to the side, Severus examined his bride for any indication of falsehood or disappointment – and found none. Her eyes held neither judgment nor censure. Only a strong desire to spend the rest of their years exploring together.

Her logical argument was enough of a distraction from the heat of the moment that it quelled the urge to spend himself. Regaining control, Severus smirked nefariously at the witch beneath him, dragging his wet penis slowly from her depths. She would pay for her giggles. Teasing her with shallow thrusts, Hermione sucked in her lower lip and squirmed.

Palming a jiggling breast, Severus silently mouthed 'Gotcha.'

It was so good. The slick heat of her welcoming vagina as it drew him in and sucked around him. The soft round of her stomach and mounds of her breasts caressed his body. Softer than he'd remembered any witch being. He looked down into the loving eyes of his wife and felt a spring of love burst within. In the back of his mind, Severus knew he could not continue his punishingly slow pace. Not with the need and desire simmering slowly between them. The boiling point would come.

Hermione twisted and gave a meek whimper, begging with her hips for more. Her fingers clawed into his bum, digging into flesh, pulling him deeper into her.

"Oh, yes… please," she demanded breathily. "More."

He was only too happy to oblige.

Circling and dragging hips against the apex of her thighs, he consistently tried to hit all of her sensitive parts, even as it made the veins on his neck to stand out with the force of his control. Severus had been truthful. He wanted her to experience at least two more orgasms before his own. The desire to feel her silken essences drown his cock from within, to pulse and constrict around him, was as strong as his desire to express his love and devotion by satisfying her.

Sliding his palm down her smooth calf, he shifted his weight and hitched her leg higher, changing the angle of penetration. Breasts jiggling harder, Severus smiled wickedly down at her before picking up her foot and moving it to his shoulder.

Hermione's eyes widened and her breath hitched.

Closing his lips around her arch, Severus bit lightly. She screamed a foul word. Tightening and releasing, a pouring rush and blossoming explosion overtook her. It caused Hermione to draw up and push out at the same time as nipples and quim clenched. Toes and fingers curled up. All pieces of her body shattered at once.

Severus had his palm on her other calf, intending to place it with the first, when the first wave of her shuddering delight pulsed around him. Hermione's curly head tilted back even as she moaned wantonly, and the push, the overwhelming need to bury himself faster… deeper… harder... was intense. His bollocks needed it. The racing feeling to pound her, grip her hips and dig himself deeper and shoot into her furthest recesses was overwhelming as Hermione contracted.

She shuddered again with an intense aftershock as he pumped again slowly.

Panting sharply, they both needed a moment. Smug as he felt of his accomplishment, Severus withdrew slightly to maintain focus. And Hermione needed to recover.

She didn't give him much time before her hands raised to his shoulders, pushing at them willfully.

A sardonic eyebrow lifted questioningly.

"On your back, Severus," she huffed, before adding, "please."

The musky smell of their own sex hung heavily in the air as he slowly dragged himself, muscles protesting this new type of abuse, from her body. Boneless, Severus laid next to her, still panting. With a lazy hand he gestured to his thickly coated erection, bobbing mid-air, as if to say, 'it's all yours.'

And it was.

She leaned over him, lips twisted into a grin that made him distinctly uncomfortable before hovering by his loins.

Severus groaned as her tongue dragged up his length.

"Vixen!" he hissed, fingers balled into fists.

"Don't worry, Severus; I have other plans for you."

Before he could question her, Hermione had him straddled, her glistening curls spread before his tip. Rapt with attention, Severus watched, fingers itching to grab her curvy hips and impale her on his shaft, as she pumped herself slowly onto him. Her frizzy, tousled curls spilling over her shoulders, her neck curved back, and plump well-kissed lips parted as she filled herself – Hermione looked like a witch given over to pleasure. And nothing was sexier than his wife fucking herself on his cock.

Breath had to be forced into his lungs as she settled onto the fullness of his length, and turned her warm brown eyes upon him.

"Ride me, my love," was all he could murmur, thrusting his hips up.

Licking her lips, Hermione shifted forward, bracing her palms on his chest, her eyes fluttering closed as her inner folds touched his groin, and a loud, satisfied moan escaped her throat. Palms smoothing down his shoulders, tracing his masculine body, she reached his forearms and brought them up to her rounded hips, prodding him to grip her curves.

She shifted again, drawing herself back and forth smoothly, deliciously along his length. Hermione muffled a cry as he reached the depth she liked best. Twisting her hips, she moved into a pace that pleased them both.

She sighed, relaxing into the building rhythm that buoyed her higher, feeling a breathy boneless pleasure building as she rocked atop him. Flexing hips and thrusting up into her as Severus felt her belly flutter, he hastened her impending climax by moving his hands up her side and cupping her breasts. Pinching each nipple, he watched her eyes tighten shut as she flung her head back and gave a small moaning cry. The strong milking squeezes of her body tightening around him stole the last of his reserve. A sound of pleasure, unintelligible, reverberated from his chest as he ejaculated deep within her.

Little rippling aftershocks transferred from her body into his cock, sparking tingling aftershocks that went all the way to his toes. Severus shivered with the force of the last spurting jet escaping him.

Sated and spent, Hermione wetly kissed his mouth, collapsing on top of him and accepting his comforting embrace. He nudged her, turning her slightly to cradle her from behind. For a long time he held her, amazed by his remarkable witch with the strong heartbeat pounding beneath his palm. When the chill of winter permeated the room, Severus called for a house-elf to attend the hearths.

"Sleep," he urged the lethargic body nuzzled against him, as he summoned a blanket, but Hermione had already succumbed to the temptation of sleep. Laying the thick duvet over top of them, he paused to watch her chest expand with each breath and a stray twisted curl that moved in cadence.

Severus smiled.

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A/N:

Chapter Title: Et Uxor - And wife

I won't go into details of my personal life, but this chapter was put on hold for some time. I apologize if any fangurls suffered from withdrawl. I had thought the lemons might make up for it. There will also be one more chapter then the Epilogue.

BIG THANKS to Christev, my beloved beta and partner in crime for her handholding.

As always, thank you for reading and reviewing. It does the heart good. AV


	61. Chapter 61

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**WARNING: This chapter is NOT work-safe**

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**Chapter 61- Hic Habitat Felicitas**

A thought, so deep and disturbing that it roused him from a very deep sleep, jolted Severus awake. Pushing up from the bed, panting, he scrubbed at his eyes for several moments before turning to the witch at his side. Reflexively, he clenched the hand that lay on her lush hip, feeling the warm skin and firm body beneath his palm, and took in a ragged breath. Hermione was still there, in _their_ bed, and their marriage could not be annulled. No legal loopholes, no traps.

Possessive, yes, but Severus had never denied being a possessive bastard. That thought, however, was not the one that had interrupted his rest.

Critically viewing his slumbering bride in the thin firelight, he peered closely for some indication that something had changed about her person. Her chest rose rhythmically, her hair lay around her and even annoyingly around him, through her eyelids he could see her eyes rapidly moving while she dreamed. Nothing he could discern was amiss. _Not that one could see pregnancy, _Severus rationally chided himself. Not when his spunk still painted her thighs, he added proudly.

Perhaps it was the arrogance of men that the duty of family planning frequently fell to the woman, but Severus realized with a racing heartbeat that he hadn't a clue what method of birth control she was using. And with even wider alarm, he recognized that it probably hadn't been a concern of hers for over a year – the likelihood that Hermione was on 'the Potion,' was slim. It was entirely possible that, caught up in the moment as she was, she had forgotten that small detail.

Hermione licked her lips in her sleep and turned over to him, seeking out the source of comfort that had moved away from her. Sweet witch that she was, she pressed her icy toes against his.

Settling back down and cradling her again, lest he disturb her sleep and be forced into starting a conversation he was certain that neither of them was prepared to have, Severus tried to fall asleep again. An exercise in futility, as fear clutched his chest.

It was a problem that wouldn't go away until he rationally thought it all out.

Swallowing thickly, he tried to attack it with logic using the 'worst case scenario' model he had employed for so many years while on bended knee before both of his Masters.

The worst thing that could happen was she was currently pregnant, with triplets. With his shit luck, it would be triplets. And all girls. Gryffindors to boot. And really, how bad was that?

Severus grumbled, not loud enough to disturb her sleep, but grumbled just a bit before admitting with an arched eyebrow at her unresponsive form, "Not very."

At least they wouldn't be dunderheads. The triplets would be very well educated Gryffindor princesses.

Severus paused briefly to consider if adding bars to bedroom windows – this weekend if possible – was being a bit premature.

A deep sigh escaped him as Severus gave up. It didn't bloody well matter if Hermione was currently carrying the soiled fruit of his loins. It just wasn't the worst that could happen to either of them. The worst was separation. They'd been through all that heartache before. And it wasn't likely to ever happen again. So long as there was breath within him, he'd do everything in his power to make their marriage work.

And children were… entirely up to her.

A strange feeling of acceptance washed over him, and it lifted the heaviness that hung about his heart. It wasn't his choice. So much of his life was dictated by the whims of the Fates, that really it was out of his hands. If it happened, it was because it was meant to be.

When he had still been teaching, he hadn't been able to see the connections in his life, but looking back it was clear.

As he examined his life, the milestones that lead him to where he was – curled up contentedly with his wife in his arms – were best viewed as a history. If he hadn't called Lily a Mudblood, he wouldn't have trashed their friendship. Meaning he wouldn't have hung out with his Slytherin friends and gotten pulled into their world… All the dots connected to bring him to the place where he was.

For whatever reason, life had set him on this path. Divine intervention. Fate. Personal choices and consequences. Whatever. Severus ruefully had to admit, he liked it.

The release came from letting go.

Resting his cheek for a moment on her brow, Severus let go. Whatever would be, would be. If tonight they had made a child, Severus would accept it. If six months down the road they made a child, Severus would accept that, too. Hermione slumbered on, a thin trickle of drool leaking from the corner of her lips.

He acknowledged that his confidence in his ability to be a father wasn't exactly solid, but he'd learn. All parents made mistakes, and Severus had several good examples from his own childhood on what not to do. That, and he intrinsically knew any child of theirs would be loved and cared for. His Hermione would be an excellent mother.

The urge to thrust his fingers into her pile of messy curls and greedily kiss her lips was strong and insistent, but he restrained himself. It was the sort of soft, silly notion that lesser wizards would indulge in. Despite Hermione having had several glimpses into his innermost unguarded feelings, it was best not to scare her all at once. Particularly when he was feeling quite maudlin and apt to confess his love again. A soft crack from the dying fire in the grate reminded Severus that soon his early-rising wife would wake. It simply would not do for her to catch him having wholly inappropriate and disturbingly poetic thoughts about her hair, her drool, and their unborn children.

Satisfied, Severus drifted easily back to sleep.

As daylight edged around the heavy draperies and tugged on his eyelids, Severus awoke and rolled his shoulder, wincing as it popped beneath the weight of the bushy head that used him as a pillow. Not that he'd complain; Hermione was free to abuse and molest his body as she saw fit. It was a fine Saturday morning. He could tell. Not because he had any idea whether somewhere birds were twittering and cheerful woodland creatures gathered together to sing as in his Mum's ridiculous cartoon movies, but because Hermione was still laying next to him. And he rather suspected she'd stay there for the rest of their years.

"Good morning," she mumbled sleepily, tossing a wayward curl from her face.

Severus returned the greeting and leaned in for a good morning kiss and, if he was lucky, a good morning tussle in bed.

"Ack!" she shrieked, clamping her hand over her mouth. "I haven't brushed."

"Don't care," he muttered, nuzzling her neck. He'd feast elsewhere if need be.

"But I have morning breath," she whined petulantly and made a half-hearted attempt to get up.

Well, that was uncalled for. Severus gently pulled her back into bed and cradled her face between his hands. "You, Vixen, worry far too much," he chided before sampling her lips, morning breath and all.

"I suppose this makes us an old married couple," Hermione remarked, after being thoroughly snogged to both of their satisfaction. "Before you know it you'll be leaving the door to the bathroom open and breaking wind at the dinner table."

Severus raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't break wind."

"Oh, so one day you'll just explode, is that it? Everyone breaks wind."

"Vixen, don't test me before I've had my morning coffee," he shot her a significant look which he hoped translated as him needing her or the elves to bring some of her perfectly brewed French roast. He grumbled a bit before muttering, "I don't break wind. I may occasionally pass gas, but I don't break wind, and never at the dinner table. I may have been raised common, but I'm as uncommon as they come."

Hermione snorted.

"Find that funny do you? Just for that I'll now leave the bathroom door open, as you put it." Severus hastened off the bed, strode to the loo and relieved himself without a backward glance, even though he could hear her giggling like a school girl. Old married couple indeed!

Stifling her giggle into a plump pillow, Hermione enjoyed a positively giddy moment of girlish glee. They were _home_, _happily married_ – completely and utterly for real this time – and her beloved husband was relieving himself in the other room. Absurdity had never been so much of a delight.

In the loo he was infinitely pleased to find the shower cabinet Hermione had installed during her renovation of the Homestead. After attending to his personal needs, Severus approached the new toy with all the enthusiasm of a small child exploring his world.

The glass door pushed aside at his touch and Severus stared, head cocked to the side, at the incomprehensible amount of dials and knobs affixed to the marble tiled wall. Whereas the scientist might have paused to test each button and dial, Severus happily twisted and pulled everything in reach. Jets of wash sprung from the walls, blasting his body with a vicious torrent of water and pink vanilla-scented foam. A rich laugh bellowed from his chest, and echoed merrily in the steaming room.

Several twists of a dial washed away the pink, and he caught on quickly to adjust the temperature and force of the sprays. As he moved away from the controls, the jets angled to follow his progress, and Severus darted back and forth, playfully attempting to evade the wash.

"My Gods this is glorious," he announced, stretching his lean body and working out muscle strain under the kneading fist of spray.

In truth, there was nothing better than a good hot shower. And his marvelous wife had done well. Nothing had been looked forward to as eagerly in his Hogwarts days than coming home to a good shower and rinsing off blood and potions. The cool trickling wash at Spinners End could never compare to his bathroom at Hogwarts. Jake's borrowed bathroom was satisfactory, but his new shower at the Homestead was by far the best.

A sober reminder of the bucket hit him in the sternum with a coldness that spread across his chest.

Wash days at the prison had been a bucket of cold saltwater and a rag. And he'd been too damn grateful to wash off the caked grime to mumble anything other than 'Thank you,' to his indifferent guards. Hermione's self-warming teapot and access to a real hot bath, even cobbled together, had been a blessing.

Hermione had been a blessing.

Sinking against the tile, Severus allowed the beating torrent to wash his body clean as he lost himself in thought. He searched his heart, expecting to find the gnawing feeling of guilt that always accompanied the choice to turn his back on Azkaban, and was unable conjure the emotion. The Homestead was not a place for honest contrition and he had – beyond comprehension – everything he hadn't ever realized he had wanted. And in the same breath, there was no guilt. No shame.

Lifting eyes skyward as if to accuse the Gods themselves of playing with him, Severus felt considerably ambivalent about where he stood.

It was a strange feeling. Incomplete. Had he put away his quest for peace? No, certainly not. Some of the things Hermione had said about works of kindness and charity still resonated. The joint potion he had perfected in Azkaban could be gifted to the wizarding world. It was only one of many therapeutic potions that he could give away in atonement. Life had offered him a way out of the desolate cell. Another path to make amends, beyond self flagellation.

"Take it, you fool," he muttered. "Take it and be grateful. Something in your miserable life has worked out." Left unspoken was the ingrained belief that by the next day all of the goodness would be washed down the drain, but that too was out of his hands.

His voice echoed nicely off the tile, and as he soaped and lathered a washcloth, Severus smirked. Clearing his voice he said, "Turn to page 394."

A wolfish grin split his face.

It had been years since he'd sung in such a nice shower.

When the sound of twisting taps and a rushing showerhead hit her ears, Hermione's head instantly pricked up. Her satisfied grin broadened into a full smile that spread across her cheeks. Severus was in her shower. The shower she had designed solely with him in mind when it had been renovated and transformed from the gloomy, paint-peeling space.

Tiptoeing into the bathroom, she spared a glance at the purposefully uncharmed mirror, and was appalled. The spellwork that had held the wedding makeup in place had failed. Standing in front of her reflection, she traced the thick raccoon smudges beneath her eyes and reached for a flannel before thinking better of it. Severus must have one in the shower. With him.

Naked.

Lingering long enough to give a wistful sigh to the toothbrush that sat on the vanity, Hermione ran her tongue briefly over her teeth and mentally shrugged. She really had no idea how long he took in his morning shower. If she wanted to join him, she'd have to move on it.

Apprehension briefly niggled at the back of her mind. He wouldn't kick her out, would he? She honestly didn't know. It wasn't as if they had really ever lived together. Not properly. But there was only one way to find out.

"You're not a coward," she whispered.

Hermione held her breath and listened as a faint muffled sound bounced off the cream marble along with the cascading sounds of the showerheads. Stepping closer, she pressed her ear against the cold tile and heard, "_Take a look at the Lawman beating up the wrong guy. Oh man!_"

She giggled and snorted into her palm. She opened the glass door just in time to add her voice to the refrain, "_He's in the best selling show!_" warbling horridly off tune.

Severus spun instantly, skidding slightly on the soapy tile, and dropped the white washcloth at his feet. She took a mental picture for posterity. Severus' jaw hanging open while bubbles ran indecently down his lean, wet, and very naked body was a thought to hang on to. Hermione shivered standing in the doorway, the juxtaposition of the cold of the bathroom behind her and the steam from his shower sensitizing nerve endings and tightening her nipples.

He recovered first, with a smirk, and bent down – unabashed and unashamed – for the wash cloth. Hermione supposed she really didn't need a mental picture for all posterity now. Since he hadn't automatically ordered her out, Severus obviously didn't mind sharing his shower, and that held delightful promises for the future. Hastily, and before he muttered something snarky about letting all the hot steam out, Hermione closed the glass door behind her.

New jets of water, sensing her presence, turned on and followed her path as she joined her husband under the central waterfall.

"You didn't have to stop singing," Hermione said with a smile, pausing briefly to plant a brief kiss at his lips. "You have a very nice voice."

The reproachable look he shot her plainly read that he was not about to start singing again. Not for an audience, and Hermione sighed. Perhaps one day, once they really were an old married couple, he'd drop his defenses and sing for her; until then Hermione plucked the wet washcloth out of his fingers.

She leaned past him, brushing her breasts along the musculature of his shoulder to reach a bottle of bodywash she had left behind. It was her own scent, an energizing green tea and ginger, that she was sure would smell odd on him, but it would do in a pinch. Severus stood stock still as she reached around him, relathering the white cloth, humming the rest of the song, and liberally rubbing her body against him. It was a small production that created the response Hermione was hoping for – stepping back she noted with a small smirk of triumph that he was beginning to sport an erection.

"Do you mind washing my back?" Hermione asked, handing him back the towel and lifting the drenched curls from the nape of her neck and pulling them over her shoulder. She asked knowing damn well he was unable to refuse, and rather enjoyed playing the coquette, even if he was already aware of her game.

One hand came to rest on her side, gently squeezing beneath the circle of her breast as the cotton cloth made relaxing circles along her shoulders. Drowsily closing her eyes, Hermione drifted in a peaceful relaxed state, as his careful ministrations and the cloudy fragrant steam of the chamber soothed her. His touch was divine, soft and probing, and she sighed when he found a small knot of tension and worked it out with his kneading fingers. Soap bubbles traversed lazily down her body, pooling at her feet before draining away. It felt like all the weight of their problems and issues were simply washing away with yesterday's grime.

Clasping his hand over the swell of her hip, Severus pulled her back against his lean body, the heat of his engorged erection resting hotly on her bum, bringing her out of her faraway trance. Sliding back and forth, slipping against his chest, Hermione giggled and shared the lather on her back with him.

"Witch," Severus warned in a voice that lacked all bite. He halted her movements with a steadying hand and delved the cloth between her parted legs. "You asked me to wash you."

"Yes, but It's more fun to share?"

Her lush, witchly curves pressed into him and Severus groaned, stroking soapy fingers along the sweetness of her figure. The shower poured overhead sending cascading rivulets of water down their joined bodies. Between her parted thighs, Severus discovered a slicker wetness and pressed his palm into her curls. Fingers gently questing, Hermione's soft, gasping moans echoed off the tiled walls.

The trace of soap prickled his tongue as she bared the column of her neck to his lips. He was still unable to help himself from kissing the smooth skin, just as his hips thrust rhythmically between her wet thighs without coherent thought. Hermione slowly twisted in his arms, slipping against his wiry chest hair and taut muscles to touch her lips to his. Taking great pleasure in their passion, he guided her back to the tiled wall.

With a slight adjustment that prompted a furious tangle of sliding limbs and sharp moans, Hermione wrapped her legs about him. Her damp heat was more satisfying than any shower.

He lost himself to the shared bliss of their lovemaking, his wife clutched in his arms, firm, real, divine. Knees trembling, Severus held her body to his; it felt like home. It felt like redemption.

* * *

Severus exited the shower cabinet first, overcome by the sudden rush of humbling emotion. His soul felt laid bare. As if he only just realized he was naked and had no clue what to do with his hands. Or how to face Hermione. He needed to busy himself with a distracting task before he blubbered to his wife every fragile emotion that seemed to want to pour out of him.

Jumping from the shower with a skidding step, as Hermione mentally added 'buy bathmat' to her to-do list, Severus resolved to busy himself. At least until his feet could find some traction.

In the shower she didn't want to pout; pouting was for children and high strung teenage witches, but he'd left her, and she was uncertain of protocol. Sex was so much easier to navigate when one could just roll over and fall asleep or gather clothing and Apparate. This was the morning after. And tomorrow was. And the day after that was too.

Hermione now understood why every fairy tale ended with a kiss. It was a simple, perfect ending that did nothing to explain the dynamics of how a new couple should act. The romance of the moment wasn't marred by reality in any way.

Her hand on the glass door, she pushed it open to meet her fate and greet what came next.

Severus stood, white towel slung low over his hips, brushing his teeth briskly at the sink. At her appearance, he set his toothbrush down, picked up another fluffy white towel and held it timidly out to her.

Hermione breathed in relief.

She could do this.

While his witch puttered about in the bathroom, flossing of all damned things, Severus was calmly falling to pieces. He dressed with a swift wand flick, full of nervous energy.

A word to Daisy sent the elves scrambling to set out breakfast.

How was he supposed to act around her now?

It was too new. Too fast. Faster than he could process.

It wasn't as if they had ever honestly discussed the future together. Miserably, Severus reflected he couldn't slink off to Azkaban if he failed. Perhaps when the weather turned warm enough not to kill him, he could find a decent corner to transform into his Animagus shape and hide from her, but that was just as cowardly.

For better or worse, they were bound. Permanently. Fool that he was, he'd married her - twice.

It wasn't something he regretted, per se, he honestly loved the hag-haired tyrant, but now it was real. No longer a far-off and dreamy fantasy of some blissful and unobtainable life together that he certainly didn't deserve.

Sobering.

He'd actually have to be a real husband. And a real father for the Gryffindor triplets he'd irrationally convinced himself that she was carrying.

Severus had no idea what this new identity looked like. Severus Snape, Husband. Severus Snape, Father.

He'd have to wing it. Do the best he could and hope it was enough.

For a wizard accustomed to orderly schedules and routine, panic fueled his chest, even as he poured himself coffee and picked up the morning paper.

Hogwarts had been orderly. The school had a cadence of children and lectures, grading and meals. Brewing was methodical, from preparation times to number of stirs. Systematic. Predictable. Azkaban had its own schedule - from Fish Nights to Delousing Days to the monthly wash bucket, and it was all set to the ceaseless rhythm of the tides. Years could pass without exception. Even the Dark Lord's presence had been arranged and ritualized, with rules of conduct and guidelines of behavior. One always knew where in his favor they stood by how he held court.

How on earth was he to know where he stood with her? Certainly not by the banquet chair at which she placed him.

Irrational? Yes. But it still set him on edge. Was it left to him to set some kind of schedule? Rise at seven and eat at seven thirty? If need be, he would. For her, the elves, and even their well-behaved triplets.

Hermione felt a surreal moment of unexpected normalcy that she found to be downright creepy when she emerged hesitantly from their shared bedroom.

Severus sat stiffly in his restrictive robes at the breakfast table, a steaming cup of aromatic coffee in one hand, the morning's Prophet in the other. With care, Hermione took the only seat available to her at the small table, and wordlessly Severus passed her the editorial section.

It was just so damned normal.

She idly wondered, while plating a cup of fruit and some yogurt, if this was to be her future. In twenty years would Severus be handing her the editorials and passing her the butter? In fifty? One hundred?

It was possible.

Severus snorted, breaking the quiet.

"You'll love the front page. They trotted out everyone they could find at short notice who'd give an interview on why we remarried. Apparently it's quite the hot topic. You may be interested to know that several witches now claim you've poisoned me."

"Front page?" Hermione said, her face a visage of complete shock. Sure, their marriage might have been 'news-worthy,' but front page? It wasn't that big of a deal. "Must have been some kind of a slow news day."

And Hermione was unwilling to spare another thought for what some jealous witches were claiming.

"Hardly," Severus grimaced, pulling apart the leaves of the paper to hand her the cover stories. "Warden Blotts was just sentenced by the Wizengamot. One hundred and thirty years in Azkaban, to be served in bilge level two with the general population. Though I give that spineless wizard a year at most. The Ministry is, as always, promising real prison reform, which will never happen.

"And we still made top billing. They barely spared a quarter of a page for the Kissed."

"I don't know why I still subscribe," Hermione mused, pulling a frown.

"Because the Quibbler insists on publishing unintelligible nonsense. And unlike most of the wizarding world, you're actually interested enough in what's going on to keep holding out hope for some shred of real news."

"Oh, well, there is that."

They fell silent, pouring over their shared newspaper, and hunting amongst the gossip and fear-mongering for anything that could be termed 'real news.' It was peaceful and strangely comfortable for Severus, who'd never actually shared his breakfast table with another witch, much less his wife. When he'd been a boy his only ambition was to gulp his hot porridge as fast as he could and be gone. At Hogwarts, as a student and as a faculty member, breakfast was a solitary occasion of clattering dishes and yammering voices.

Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear and life was deliciously perfect.

After several quiet moments though, Severus got the strong impression that something was worrying her. His natural inclination was to let her stew until she was ready to bring whatever was on her mind to him in her own time. Hermione liked to internally process her thoughts and problems before she was ready to share. But she'd been methodically slathering butter on her ginger scone for the better part of two minutes, and most of it had crumbled away.

Severus cleared his throat for her attention. "Is there something on your mind?"

Hermione looked up, startled, and carefully put down her knife and scone. "It's nothing."

Severus took in her uncomfortable stance and wondered with a lifted eyebrow if _now_ was the moment she'd bridge the issue of family planning. Not that he minded. Just the way she had said, 'it's nothing,' clearly meant that it was 'something.'

His mind dipping into the Homestead's wards, Severus was instantly assaulted by how strong those feelings were.

When he'd been in the prison, he had to concentrate hard on her presence to be able to vaguely read her emotions. Here, now, in the Homestead, the power was raw and overwhelming. Intrusive. He felt how unsettled and uncomfortable she was with whatever subject she had to broach.

Without hesitation Severus determined a need to switch off that warding function. It was wrong to dip into her psyche at his whim, without her having the ability to reciprocate.

_That, and if she ever discovered he'd been hiding the ability from her, she'd castrate him and give his balls to Crookshanks to bat around as cat toys._

Folding his newspaper neatly, Severus turned to give his wife his full and complete attention, faintly disconcerted by how anxious she still appeared. Was it possible she knew she was pregnant with the triplets already? No, Severus assured himself, the thought was absurd.

"Hermione," he said, trying to sound supportive. "Something is on your mind. Please tell me," he internally winced at the unnatural concern lacing his voice. "I'd like to know how you're feeling."

Meeting his gaze just for a flickering moment, Hermione swallowed and spoke to the serviette in her lap. "Ginny has been working on a care facility."

"What?" he interrupted, completely nonplussed. _What did Ginevra Mulciber and a care facility have to do with their children?_

"Well, the Kissed wizards and witches have to go somewhere," she hastily explained. "Azkaban is no sort of place for all those people."

"Oh." Dumbfounded, Severus sat back. He'd been so certain of the direction of their conversation, he'd rehearsed it in his head twice. "Of course, that makes sense. They never belonged there in the first place."

Hopefully his wife didn't cotton on to his confusion or his embarrassing reason for it. Perhaps marriage dulled the wits and addled the brain. He'd heard other wizards speaking of it. Severus knew the moment he began saying 'yes, dear' as a standard response, he was done for it.

"Go on then," he said encouragingly as Hermione gave him another tight, nervous smile.

She fidgeted with her teacup for a moment. "She's going to need help. A lot of help. They're setting it up for all the people who will be left unclaimed. And given how there are entire families Kissed, with nobody to care for them, the center is expected to be quite full."

Severus arched an eyebrow, waiting for Hermione to summon her obnoxious inner-Gryffindor and get to whatever was bothering her.

"I was thinking… the elves don't have quite so much to do, now that we've cut back on the lichen farms, and what if…"

"What if we gave the elves to the center as care takers," he finished for her.

"On lend," she amended.

"I don't see why they should be on lend. I swear each time I'm here I trip over a new elf."

Hermione breathed easily and smiled gratefully since he was amenable to the idea. Then again, she had no clue how strongly Severus favored it. Ruddy elves were crawling everywhere. A sly smile crept towards his lips, but Severus held it back with a measure of self control. He'd just found the perfect wedding present and it took care of his elf problem quite nicely.

"Well, I wouldn't want to displace an elf who doesn't want to go. That's such a nasty thought – trading elves like they're possessions or property."

Shrewdly, Severus bit back that they _were_ property. The statement wasn't likely to go over well with her. It was a small reminder that his wife was a Muggleborn. Hermione blended in so well that he often forgot.

Severus shrugged. "Talk to Daisy; she runs the household. She'll gather and prepare any volunteers."

He'd also make certain there were plenty of volunteers. Damned elves.

The look on her face was priceless. The shining glimmer in her eyes, her triumphant grin – all bespoke that he'd done right as a husband. Maybe the whole equal-partnership marriage wasn't as difficult as it sounded. If he could just maintain the deep look of adoration in her eyes, he'd be fine. Or as long as he didn't cock things up too badly.

Hermione picked up the crumbling ginger scone again, swiping excess butter off before devouring it with gusto. "Thank you Severus," she said after a couple of minutes. "It's a very good thing you're doing. I know how hard it is for some wizards to give up their help. And the center will really need it. The Kissed will need 'round the clock care, feeding, and medical attention."

Honestly, he didn't care. She'd tried to make him care, months and months ago. She had stomped her foot and demanded that he make use of his life because others hadn't been given the choice, and he'd been unable to understand her then. Oh, he got the point now. He just still didn't care.

Marriage hadn't made him any less of a bastard – thank the gods for that.

Paper finished, the tripe masquerading as 'news' dutifully read, Severus stretched languidly. Muscles unaccustomed to strenuous exercise rolled as stress was relieved.

"So, what would you like to do today?" he asked, his fingertips ghosting up her bare arm suggestively.

Hermione drew her wand, surprising Severus, and summoned a thick tablet from the other room. Sorting papers out, Hermione began reading from a well-bulleted tablet full of notes with the kind of satisfaction she could only achieve when composing organization timetables and to-do lists.

"Oh, well first I suppose I need to ring Mum and Dad. They probably ought to know their little girl got married…again. Mum will most likely be thrilled that all those frilly things she bought me will finally see the light of day. And they'll need to know to set another place at the table for Christmas because I already committed myself to be there – and for Daddy's birthday."

She didn't notice the harsh grimace Severus wore.

"Speaking of, I should owl Ginny too. That is, if she's taking post on her honeymoon. But hearing about our wedding from me is much better than finding out about it secondhand from the Prophet. And we need to pick up our stuff from Jake's house. I mean, I assume you'll want to get properly moved in as soon as possible. I even saved your Slinky. And I was thinking that…"

"Hermione," Severus rumbled, spreading his hand over hers to still her nonstop chatter.

"Hmm?"

"Forget the Mulcibers."

"But," she began to protest, gesturing to her perfectly laid out bullet points.

"But nothing. This is _our_ honeymoon. Let the list go."

Abruptly, Severus stood, and in a single fluid motion lifted Hermione out of her seat and hefted her over his shoulder. Rump high in the air, Hermione squealed in delight, pounding his back all the way to the bedroom.

The End.

A/N:  
Chapter title: Hic Habitat Felicitas - Here dwells happiness

Ya'll deserve an explanation of what took so long. I was wibbling. This chapter was agonized over and rewritten enough times that Christev (beta extraordinaire) was going to thump me over the head with her cast. (Her wrist is broken and she beta'd this typing on one hand - amazing) It had to be _perfect_. I'm still wibbling that it's not _perfect_, but I just have to let it go and post. Or else some fangurls *cough* *cough* will send the Aurors out looking for me. I assure you I am alive. Just had a momentary lack of confidence.

Thank you so much to my lovely reviewers who've kept my spirits up and enthusiasm high about this fic. It's been a wild ride, and I appreciate you following me along.

There will be an Epilogue.

Schmootches! AV


	62. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

**WARNING: This chapter is NOT work-safe**

* * *

**Epilogue - Multis Post Annis**

Saturdays at the Homestead were very much looked forward to by the entire household. The children enjoyed it because Hermione didn't press them to study, and Severus liked it because it was Jake and Draco's day to manage the factory. It was one of the few quiet days that they could manage the 'quality family time' that Hermione insisted on having. As Severus lay cuddled up and spooning his wife, he was looking forward to some quality adult time.

"Good morning, love," Severus rumbled, his chest pressed against her back as he plucked lightly at her taut nipples.

Somewhere under a tangle of frizz his wife mumbled, "Morning," as she reached between them to pet his straining cock.

Good morning shags might have lacked some of the passion that their evenings had, but the chance for uninterrupted private moments never went to waste. His fingers ghosted across her ribs caressing lightly as his witch pressed herself more firmly against his groin, muffling her cry with her pillow. Their room could be spelled for sound, but Hermione would not permit it. Damned witch asserted that the children should always be able to access them, being able to hear them at all times was a mandatory function of parenting.

When the heel of his palm ground into her slick folds though, she moaned with abandon. Any curious little eyes looking in through the keyhole might have thought they were playing the 'tickle game' again – the keyhole was now spelled shut.

Just as Severus had gotten his first heavenly thrust in, Charlie woke up the house.

Hermione had never forgotten he had wanted a little yellow lab as a Christmas present. As a child, the dream of a puppy to lick his face and cuddle with him had been one he'd begged Saint Nicholas to fulfill, way past the age when writing to the fat man was sensible.

When the little thing had jumped from a box, all floppy ears and oversized paws, Severus had threatened to name him Jake. Hermione had stamped her foot and thrown an adorable fit. But it was Severus' dog, and he rather thought he could choose whatever name he wanted for the the little thing that immediately piddled on their carpet. A compromise was made. He didn't name the dog Jake. She didn't name their firstborn Hugo.

Instead he named the little shit Charlie. After the ginger-haired dragon wrangler who had once dated his wife - that way he could yell at the slobbering beast all day long and feel marginally better about his innate possessive streak. He should have named the damn dog 'Coitus Interruptus.'

Severus gripped the edge of her hip, holding her close to him; he nuzzled her neck to hold on to the moment. Hermione wiped a layer of hair away from her face and turned to him.

"The boys will be up."

Severus closed his eyes in silent acknowledgement of the fact. "In three. Two."

"Mum!" a voice larger than the boy yelled. "Mummy!"

They shared a small smile as Severus turned over to stare at the ornate ceiling and relax while his erection subsided. She wouldn't allow him to walk around the house with one. Wouldn't allow him to walk around his house naked either. Damned children. When he had imagined their children, they had been better behaved.

Despite threatening several times to throw the lot of them out into the cold streets with nary a Galleon between them, they continued to live under his roof.

Grumbling, Severus Accio'd modest pajamas. There was no telling when one of them would decide to leap into bed once Hermione unlocked their door.

"What's for breakfast, Mum!" Their middle child shouted.

Hermione slowly extricated herself from their bed, reaching for clothing and her frumpy housecoat, while Severus enjoyed a bit more of a lay in. Gone were the days of waking in an orderly fashion and living on a schedule. She looked longingly back towards the bed. No, not at her lounging husband - whose erection was still very ready for her to use - but at her fluffy pillow, before greeting the two boys.

It was all very sad. His children were born with a chronic disease: they could eat him out of house and home and still ask if there was afters. His seven year old, Gideon, the scrawny thing, was born with a hollow leg. Severus had believed Hermione that it was an honest affliction until his research into a cure had turned up that it was just a Muggle expression. Every once in awhile, he knocked on a limb just in case it echoed.

Severus stretched his arms above his head and listened to the sounds of the Homestead. The two boys running around in the kitchen. Charlie barking incessantly. Hermione clattering in the kitchen.

That was the one reason why Severus had a small regret about getting rid of most of the elves.

Hermione's cooking hadn't improved.

Ah, well. He supposed it was all part of his penance.

The Prophet had named him the Most Charitable Wizard of the Year for gifting his help to any charity that petitioned for one. Throughout the wizarding world Homestead elves were tending to the sick and needy while singing 'Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo.' Severus felt rather sorry for the sick and needy. But barely legible thank you notes poured in from knee-high, teeth-gnashing elves, grateful for meaningful work. In hindsight, Severus moaned about not keeping a kitchen elf.

Tink was the only elf around and she had all the greenhouses all to herself. She wouldn't leave, and nobody would take her. The arrangement worked. And Tink managed to grow enough food that his starving children could occasionally eat.

Small bare feet stopped at the open bedroom door and Severus lifted his head to see which of his scamps had come for Daddy. As if to answer his unspoken question, a small squealing giggle announced her presence. Severus pretended not to notice.

Calla always thought she could creep up on him. Slytherin, the whole lot of them, and his youngest - his only daughter - in particular. As soon as she had been born, blood warding, original to the foundations of the manor and the Prince family, protected her bedroom. Hermione would have a fit if she knew the extent of them, but in this, Severus was immutable.

Dark baby ringlets appeared at the side of the bed. Severus closed his eyes as she hoisted herself up. Determined little witch. Calla slowly crawled to his motionless form. Through a crack in his eyelid, Severus waited patiently for the moment she was going to pounce. Sensing it, Severus bolted up and caught her.

The Tickle Monster was merciless.

Calla squealed and giggled until her chubby legs kicked and she couldn't draw breath. Satisfied, Severus got up and sat her on his hip.

At four, she was getting too old to be treated like a baby, but the days were spinning by quickly and there was no harm in holding on a bit more. Ignoring his hint that another two or five children would be welcome, Hermione had firmly announced that the baby factory was closed. And soon enough, their oldest would be ready for Hogwarts. It was enough to make him feel like an old man.

He _was_ an old man.

In the kitchen there was chaos as the two boys, Andrew and Gideon, chased each other around making an unholy racket. When the noise got too loud, they'd be told to settle down, but Severus and Hermione let the boys play. They were seven and ten. Shouting and running around were what they did best. In their hands, they carried Harry Potter and Voldemort action figures that matched their jammies. Somewhere in the house were Hermione Granger and Severus Snape action figures, but Mum and Dad weren't as much fun to play with. And Mum and Dad were just fine with that.

Severus deposited Calla in her chair and kissed the top of her curly head.

His witch was at the stove doing things to eggs and toast that ought to have been illegal. And eating it would have been a civil rights violation. Severus gave her ten more minutes before Hermione gave up and made chocolate griddle cakes.

A cold nose butted against his arse and Severus turned to see Charlie sitting, leash in his mouth and his tail eagerly thumping. Severus slid a considering look to Hermione. She wouldn't walk him. It made perfect sense for Severus to fix breakfast as Hermione walked Charlie, but she wouldn't have it, and Charlie wouldn't be walked.

"Bugger," he muttered.

"I heard that! Language, Severus," Hermione admonished, not turning away from the culinary abomination that was blackening.

Severus accepted the soggy leash from Charlie's mouth and was jerked out the back door before his shoes were properly on. Charlie pulled him along the back walk towards the greenhouses, pausing every now and then to sniff at flowers and paw the earth for no reason at all. How he ended up with a dunderheaded dog was beyond him. Were Crooks alive, Severus was confident he would have straightened the canine out. Obedience school certainly hadn't. Charlie had failed. Twice. That's what he got for naming a dog after a Weasley.

Apparently there was something interesting and worth investigating in the bushes. Charlie crouched low and his rump wiggled like a cat's before pouncing.

"Charlie old boy, that's not a good –"

Charlie attacked then howled, backing out quickly and hiding cowardly behind Severus' legs.

"Stupid fool." Severus swiveled, wrapping the lead around him more firmly to give the whimpering dog a glare. "What have I said about hedgehogs?"

Hermione was going to freak out. She loved the damned little creatures so.

Losing patience, Severus twisted out of the tangled mess about his legs and summoned the petrified hog. If he didn't attempt to heal it, he could be assured of no sex for at least a week. Giving Charlie a stiff glare that would frighten any student, but which had no effect on the idiot dog, he pocketed the small creature and headed onward. His family was gathering to eat together, and he hated missing out.

After several minutes of attempting to remove Severus' arm from its shoulder socket, Charlie found acceptable shrubbery to fertilize. Severus rolled his eyes. If Tink caught him, Charlie would really have something to whimper about. Aiming his wand, Severus banished the mess and arched an exasperated eyebrow at man's best friend.

"Are you quite finished?"

Charlie led Severus all the way back into the house. It was morally wrong to zap the dog.

For that, he'd be without sex for a month, and Severus was really quite fond of sex.

Charlie was a small reminder that all the things he originally thought he wanted in the world weren't what he really wanted. His nose picked up the smell of griddle cakes and warm chocolate. It was a smell that reminded him that the things that he thought he hadn't ever wanted in the world meant the most to him. Obviously it was because he had shit luck and the Fates amused themselves at his expense.

Surely that was it.

Hermione's hips swayed to the beat of the tune she was humming as hot, gooey griddle cakes stacked up, and Severus smiled. Wrapping his arms around his love, he kissed the top of her head. Neither minded if the kids saw them being affectionate. Severus wanted to make sure that they knew their mother was loved. And that they were loved and wanted as well.

"Severus..." Hermione hissed, rubbing herself against him. "What do you have in your pants?" There was a distinct note of accusation in her voice.

He stepped back and gently pulled out the small trembling ball.

"Oh," she whispered, looking at the little creature before plucking it from his fingers and holding it gingerly to her bosom.

"Charlie attacked him." Severus withheld the 'can we get rid of him now?' The kids loved Charlie, even if he didn't know his own strength and repeatedly knocked them over when roughhousing. Hermione disappeared to Granger Industries to find the right dosage of Healing Draught for the hedgehog's weight, and Severus turned towards his messy lot of misbegotten heathens.

"Now, who's ready for a real breakfast?"

The children cheered for Daddy.

As Severus began to prepare omelets and shredded potatoes, he was undeniably happy. Stupidly in love with his wife, to whom he couldn't keep himself from whispering 'I love you.' Amazingly fulfilled with his philanthropic work. And damned proud of the dark-haired ankle-biters who had the misfortune of calling him Father. Hermione had once said she was looking for a happily ever after, and he hoped she had it. If not, he'd work the rest of his years to fix that.

"After all," he muttered to himself, "I'm not dead yet."

* * *

A/N:  
Epilogue title: Multis Post Annis - Many years later

I have so many people to thank. The Gilded Cage was not written in a vacuum, or just by me. I was helped by so many talented people who should share the warm fuzzy. Thank you to everyone who sent in name suggestions for the title of Severus' book. Rini corrected my atrocious Latin. Aberlioness found a monster legal-no-no, and even researched British law for me. TenderQuaintWitch's knowledge of the Middle Ages, church doctrine, and historical texts ensured that the storyline actually worked in terms of penance. Mollyssister and MiaMadwyn deserve all sorts of high praise for pimping the fic and being such a cheerleaders. AnnieTalbot and ferporcel have been such an encouragement. Mischievous-t kept me on the straight and narrow, by reading the chapters before they post to say, 'are you really going to write that? Seriously?'

I'm grateful to you all.

And honestly, I doubt any of it would be intelligible if it weren't for the amazing work of über-beta-extraordinaire, Christev. I heart her so. She is such a wonderful friend. The flowers, pearls, ponies, and chocolates aren't nearly enough. Thank you.

To all who've read and reviewed this fic, I appreciate all of your encouragement and guidance.

And like every good James Bond movie ending: AV will return with 'Goat Cheese.'

Yep. Goat Cheese. Try the Goat Cheese, I bet you'll like it.

Schmootches! AV


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